


The Yellow Press

by BeanPie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Daily Prophet, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanPie/pseuds/BeanPie
Summary: Five years after the war, Severus and Hermione are caught in a compromising position by Rita Skeeter. As the stories Skeeter spins about them become more and more damaging, our favourite pair must work together to put an end to her schemes for good.Updating every other day until Christmas.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 118
Kudos: 433





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If this seems at all familiar, I posted the first two chapters on a different site six (!) years ago. I recently dug it out and finished it, and will be posting every other day until Christmas.

One month. For one month Severus Snape had managed to avoid making an appearance in wizarding society. For one month he had dealt almost entirely with Muggles, and conducted all of his magical affairs via owl. According to Mr Jiggers Jr. however (this would never have been so difficult when his father ran the apothecary) any change to such a large standing order of potions ingredients would require a face-to-face consultation. And so it was that Severus Snape found himself stalking down Diagon Alley, scowl etched into his features, cursing the foolish, floppy-haired man under his breath.

Daylight was only just beginning to creep above the rooftops, and Severus had deliberately chosen the coldest, bitterest November day he could to make his trip. The street was all but deserted. In precisely three minutes, the shops would open. He would storm into the apothecary, get through the stupid meeting with the ridiculous man as quickly as humanly possible, and then disapparate right out of the shop. He didn't care how rude it was; it was well deserved for forcing him to leave the safety of his home. Whenever Severus ventured out in public, someone always tried to stop him to thank him for his 'heroism', and most people he passed stared at him like he was the epitome of tragic romance for having a teenaged crush. On a particularly awful outing, he might even encounter someone daring to _flirt_ with him (of course, the endless speculations about the wealth he had accumulated from his Order of Merlin and private brewing didn't help that problem in the slightest) or, worst of all, attempt to take a photograph of him and send it to that pathetic excuse for a journalist.

He arrived at the door to Slug and Jiggers just as the 'closed' sign magically flipped to 'open'. Imagining himself about to step into a classroom full of new and nervous first years, he slammed the door open with such force it nearly came off its hinges. Maybe he could _persuade_ Jiggers Jr. that it really would be better all round to continue their business dealings remotely.

* * *

Hermione Granger appeared with a 'pop' into a side street just off Diagon Alley. Straightening her robes, she glanced up and down the main market street. To her left, a spotty-faced teenager was struggling to drag a series of display stands out to the front of Magical Menagerie. Looking right, she saw a woman sweeping the front step of Primpernelle's, wearing a glamour charm so strong she was practically glowing. They were the only two people braving the biting wind however, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She'd be able to make it to Flourish and Blotts without anyone noticing her, and would be back home with a new book without any trouble.

She took her first step onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley itself and spotted another character striding down the street. Dressed all in black, with robes billowing behind him, the figure he cut was unmistakable: Professor Snape. Smiling to herself at the thought of at least one constant in the world, Hermione began heading towards the book shop, when she felt something slightly softer than stone under her right foot. She bent down to pick it up and examined it. It was a fine, black leather coin pouch, with an intricate pair of entwined 'S'es embossed onto the front. Jumping slightly as a loud bang sounded further up the street, she headed after her former professor.

As she entered the apocethary, she caught sight of him immediately. He was sat to the right of the door on a spindly wooden chair, and although his body was very calm and still, one look at his face would tell anyone who had been a Hogwarts student during his tenure that he was seething. The plump, rosy-cheeked man behind the counter didn't seem to have noticed his customer's displeasure however, and had chosen to continue humming jovially while he bustled about. Hermione cleared her throat, but Snape ignored her – she could even have sworn he turned his head ever so slightly away from her. Reminding herself that she had lived through far scarier experiences than this, she tentatively tapped him on the shoulder and then took a hurried step back. “Professor Snape, si-”

“What is it, you infernal woman!?” he snapped, whipping his head around to glare at her.

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I think you dropped this.” Hermione extended her arm as far out as she could, offering the pouch to him. Snape stood to examine it, and then took it and deposited it in his pocket.

He stared at her face for a few moments, evidently realising who she was for the first time, and took a breath. "I... apologise Miss Granger. Women who speak to me in public tend to have an ulterior mo-" He paused mid-word, his eyes drifting over Hermione's head. She turned to follow his gaze, and saw a group of women huddling together as they made their way towards the door of the apothecary. Without warning, he grabbed Hermione forcibly by the arm, and dragged her into a dark and dusty aisle at the very back of the shop. The shelves looked as if they had been left undisturbed for an age, and Hermione briefly wondered whether the ingredients were still usable.

Snape pressed one finger to his lips, urging Hermione to remain silent, and gestured with his head to the group who were currently causing the bell at the door to ring shrilly as they entered. Hermione stilled her movements and held her breath. Hiding motionless in dark corners was certainly not something she was unaccustomed to, although since the war she had never imagined she would have cause to do it with her former Potions Professor. Just as she began to contemplate whether it might be wise to disillusion themselves, a bright flashbulb went off inches from her face, leaving her temporarily blind. As her sight began to return, she was greeted by the face of the woman she had hated almost as much as Voldemort himself. Rita Skeeter.  
  
"Well, well..." The blonde woman grinned like a Cheshire cat as she surveyed the pair. "What do we have here? Have I stumbled upon a lovers' tryst? Is this how the so-called brightest witch of her age actually managed to achieve her impossibly high grades?" Snape dropped Hermione's arm as though burned, and tried unsuccessfully to put a reasonable amount of distance between them within the narrow alcove. "Oh, no need to be shy dears. My readers will be very interested to know that the ambitious Miss Granger has finally managed to snag a powerful and sought-after wizard. And why the most heroic bachelor in the Wizarding World would choose such a witch."  
  
The woman's vile quill was scribbling furiously on a notepad over her left shoulder. Snape opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it. "You're going to pay for this, cockroach. Do you not remember the little agreement we came to? It seems I have a trip to make to the Ministry."  
  
Skeeter's smile faltered slightly at this, but she gathered herself and persevered. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Granger, my _beetle_ form has now been registered with the Ministry. So it seems our arrangement must come to an end. Now, let's hear the juicy details. How long has this affair been going on?"  
  
Reeling from the announcement that she no longer held anything over the head of Rita Skeeter, Hermione was unable to form any kind of response. She resigned herself to the knowledge that it didn't matter what she said - the insect would print whatever would sell the most papers - and began to look for an escape route. Their exit was thoroughly blocked though: first by Skeeter and her bulky photographer, and then by the group of women milling about the shop who were beginning to notice the commotion. She looked up at Snape, who had still not said a word, hoping he had some kind of answer to their predicament. As if reading her mind, he disapparated with a growl, taking Hermione with him.  
  


* * *

  
  
Hermione opened her eyes to find herself in what appeared to be the living room of Severus Snape's home. Her first thought was that it was impeccably clean and tidy, but that was really the only good thing that could be said for it. Everything just looked tired. The furniture was faded and sagging, the carpet had been worn entirely bare in patches, and the portion of kitchen she could see through the open door on her left looked as if it hadn't been updated in fifty years at least. If the _Prophet_ 's reports of the size of his Gringott's account held even a sliver of truth, he could surely afford better than this.  
  
She was interrupted from her assessment of her surroundings by Professor Snape throwing himself onto an uncomfortable-looking leather armchair. "In hindsight," he said dryly, "it might not have been wise of us to apparate away together."  
  
"Well I'm grateful you didn't abandon me to deal with those maggots by myself."  
  
Hermione began to rock back and forward on her heels as an awkward silence decended between them. Professor Snape's house was not somewhere she had ever thought she would find herself. Nor was Professor Snape someone she had even considered the press might link her to romantically.  
  
"You may use my fireplace to Floo home, Miss Granger. I wouldn't recommend returning to Diagon Alley for a while at least. It has been over a month since anyone has managed to photograph me, and no one has _ever_ caught me in... close proximity to a woman. I imagine the next few weeks will be unpleasant for you. I am sorry to have involved you."  
  
"You don't need to warn me, sir. I've been on the receiving end of the _Prophet_ 's... speculations almost constantly for the past five years. And now that Harry's married and Ron's engaged, the nation is apparently on tenterhooks to find out what poor, lonely Hermione Granger is going to do with herself." She flashed him a small smile, and a look of understanding passed between them.  
  
"I have my house elf remove the gossip pages from my paper before she brings it to me in the morning. Though I should have guessed that you would also be a target.”  
  
Sensing that the conversation was over, Hermione stepped into the fireplace. “Well, I imagine I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow then.” She suppressed a laugh at his shocked and confused expression, and decided that leaving without an explanation would probably not be appreciated. “In my morning paper, sir.” With that, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder and disappeared into the flames.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had been expecting to receive letters following Skeeter's article: whenever she was mentioned in the _Prophet_ there were always at least a couple of busybodies who felt the need to comment on the way she was living her life. But she could never have prepared herself for the volume of post filling her kitchen. She could barely see her counter tops they were covered so comprehensively, and what looked to be a toppled tower of letters had slid all the way across her table, chairs and onto the floor. How bad _was_ this article?

Scanning the room, she located a bewildered looking tawny owl, with feathers sticking in all directions, cowering behind the toaster. She tossed a few coins into the pouch on its leg, took the _Prophet_ from its beak, and then scattered twice the usual number of owl treats in front of it. The owl gobbled them down at a startling pace, and when it was finished it took off immediately to swoop out of the kitchen window.

Now alone, Hermione took a deep breath and unrolled the paper. The photograph of them took up almost the entirety of the front page. Above it, the headline read “TEACHER'S PET?” in a bold, black typeface. In fairness to the seemingly endless letter writers, the photograph was definitely incriminating. Had she not been one of the subjects, Hermione would have made the same assumptions. It looked like Professor Snape had her pushed up against the shelves, arm pinned above her head. The finger pressed against her mouth in a shushing gesture looked to be teasing her pouting lower lip slightly. If she didn't know better, she would have said that he was staring at her with a fiery, passionate intensity, and she seemed to be gazing almost lovingly up at him. When the flashbulb went off and they leapt apart, they both looked flustered, and a fierce blush rushed to her cheeks. She didn't remember blushing, and nor did she remember being able to feel any of Snape's body against her own. But then everything had happened so quickly.

According to the text under the picture, Rita Skeeter's 'exclusive exposé' began on page three. Began? Hermione turned the page.

_Two of the Wizarding World's greatest heroes have found love, reporter Rita Skeeter can exclusively reveal. Hermione Granger, 23, and Severus Snape, 42, were spotted in an intimate embrace in Slug and Jiggers Apothecary yesterday. The couple clearly couldn't keep their hands off each other, barely making the effort to move to a secluded area of the shop before beginning their tête-à-tête._

_Mr Jiggers Jr., owner of the apothecary which bore witness to the scene, claims that Mr Snape had an important meeting arranged regarding the supply of ingredients for his potions company. When he met Miss Granger, however, all thoughts of business fell aside in favour of more enjoyable pursuits. The pair shared a passionate exchange (see front page) before disapparating together straight out of the shop._

_This is the first time the couple have been seen together in public. Miss Granger is, of course, no stranger to powerful wizards. She can count the boy-who-lived-twice Harry Potter, and international Quidditch star Viktor Krum amongst her conquests. She also dated childhood sweetheart Ronald Weasley for two years after the end of the war, but broke his heart when she decided that his vital work as an Auror wasn't exciting enough for her (turn to p. 27 for details of Mr Weasley and finacée Lavender Brown's wedding plans). Mr Snape, on the other hand, is famous for spending the past two decades devoted to the memory of his first love Lily Potter, née Evans. Has the former Headmaster of Hogwarts managed to move on from the woman he very nearly sacrificed his life for? And can Miss Granger ever live up to the memory of a woman so beloved by all?_

_Sources close to the couple claim that this match was inevitable. No one in the country can match their intelligence or thirst for knowledge. They have also both chosen to live quiet lives since the War, rarely making public appearances except at official events. Concerns are growing however about when the relationship began. The pair first met at Hogwarts, where Mr Snape was Miss Granger's teacher for six years. Is it possible that Miss Granger's reputation for academic brilliance comes not from talent or hard work, but rather from the company she kept as a student?_

Hermione couldn't read any more of the drivel. The article continued across four further pages, discussing the history of their interactions, the details of their respective involvements in the wars, the compatibility of their characters, and a string of opinion pieces from wizards and witches 'close to the couple', of whom Hermione recognised none. The pages were littered with photographs of each of them individually, and the article ended with a picture from the Yule Ball which Hermione had never seen before. Both she and Professor Snape were in the frame, but it must have been the only other picture they could find of the two of them; they were stood on opposite ends of the Great Hall, about as far away from each other as it was possible to be.

Realising that her friends would also have received their copies of the _Prophet_ by now, Hermione headed into the lounge and knelt at her fireplace to Floo call Grimmauld Place. Harry and Ginny appeared in front of her immediately, both looking slightly queasy. None of them spoke for a moment, and then Hermione cleared her throat to break the silence. “I take it you've seen the _Prophet_?”

“Hermione, you know we love you, and we'll always support you, but... er... we were just, sort of, wondering... why? Sorry, that's a bit rude, you don't need to answer that, what about... um... how? Or maybe... when?” Harry broke eye contact with his friend, giving up his attempt at questioning her.

“It's not what it looks like,” Hermione replied hastily, but both Potters still looked doubtful.

Patting her husband on the arm, Ginny took over. “It looks like he has you pinned against a wall and is about to take you there and then. And that you're going to let him. I'm struggling to see how that could be mistaken for something else. If it wasn't Snape, it would actually be pretty hot.”

Harry mimed gagging behind Ginny's back, and Hermione shot him a disapproving look. “I know the photograph looks really, really, bad, but they must have just found a horribly misleading angle because it didn't happen like that.”

“You know, we're not going to judge you. And we won't tell anyone if you want to keep it a secret. We just want you to be happy,” Harry said with a sympathetic smile.

Hermione let out a sigh of frustration: if it was this difficult to convince her friends that nothing was going on, the rest of the Wizarding World would never believe her. “Until yesterday, I hadn't seen Professor Snape in years! I was just returning something he dropped. And then I'm not really sure what happened, but we were hiding from some people and Skeeter just appeared out of nowhere. After all the lies she's told, do you really think that _this_ is the story that sounds like it might contain some truth?”

Ginny surveyed her friend, pursing her lips, “So nothing's going on between you and Snape? You promise?”

“Of course nothing's going on!”

Ginny seemed to accept this, and visibly relaxed. Bending down closer to the fireplace, she grinned and said, “Well that's a big bloody relief! How's the hate mail going?”

“I've not actually opened any of it yet. But there's a lot. Way more than I've ever had before.”

Harry checked his watch, “We promised Ron and Lavender that we'd help them with some wedding stuff today, but we can cancel if you need us.”

“No, don't cancel. That's actually really good. Could you tell everyone you see that it's all a lie? I'd at least like the Weasleys to know that it's not true. You can come over this evening if you're not busy though. Chippy? My treat?.”

“Sounds great, about seven?”

“I'll see you then.” Hermione withdrew from the fireplace and returned to the kitchen. Flicking the kettle on, she sat down to open the first letter. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The sun was already beginning to set when Hermione opened the last letter. She had worked her way through almost an entire packet of chocolate digestives, and had lost count of how many cups of tea she'd drunk. After a brief scan of the parchment in her hand, she set it down on the 'long and boring' pile. Grabbing the 'hilariously funny' pile, she took them into the living room and dropped them on the coffee table ready to show Harry and Ginny. There were still more than three hours until her friends were due to arrive, and she was desperate to talk to someone about everything she'd read. The thought suddenly occurred to Hermione that there was someone in exactly the same situation as her. She sat down at her great grandmother's old writing desk, and began to compose a letter.


	3. Chapter 3

Severus Snape stepped into his kitchen to see Morky, his house elf, desperately trying to clear the surfaces of what looked to be a small forest's worth of paper. She had so many letters clutched in her arms that some were beginning to slip out past her elbows and onto the floor. She squeaked and jumped when she saw Severus, dropping more letters in the process. “Morky is sorry sirs, Morky is wanting the kitchen to be tidy for master, but there is so many letters!”

“Leave the letters, Morky,” Severus replied. “I doubt there is anywhere else in the house that they would all fit. Has the _Prophet_ arrived yet?”

“Yes sirs,” Morky squeaked, heaving the pile of letters she held back onto the kitchen table. Walking into the lounge to retrieve the paper, she began shouting over her shoulder. “Morky is leaving the gossipings in today sirs, as master said. Morky thinks 'tis good master wanted them today sirs, since every page is a gossipings!” The elf returned to the kitchen, arm outstretched, _The Daily Prophet_ in hand.

“Thank you,” Severus said as he took the paper, and Morky beamed. Unrolling it, he gasped when he saw the photograph. He had Hermione Granger, his former student, pinned up against a stack of shelves. His body was completely pressed against her, trapping her where she stood. And he was leering at her with such intensity that it looked like, had they not been interrupted by the photographer, he was only seconds away from ripping her clothes off. He hadn't intended that at all. The poor girl must have been terrified. How had he been so aggressive, intimidating and entirely inappropriate without even realising it? He mentally added 'inability to control oneself around women' to his list of reasons to avoid going out in public, and resigned himself to the unavoidable fact that he owed Miss Granger an apology.

After he had skimmed the article (complete nonsense, as usual) and tucked into one of Morky's delicious omelettes, he got started on the task of dealing with the letters. He could just destroy them all and be done with it, but he decided it was probably important to know exactly what people were saying about him. As he opened letter number ten, he had an idea to make the process less dull, and called for his house elf.

“Yes sirs?”

“Are you busy, Morky?”

“No sirs.”

“Would you like to have some fun?”

“Funs sirs?”

“I need to dispose of these letters, and thought it might pass the time more quickly if we found some creative ways to do so. I haven't had the opportunity to practice my offensive spells in a while, and I fear I may be getting rusty. I would also find it very interesting to see some house elf magic, if you're interested.”

“Master is wanting to see elf magic?”

“Only if you want to: this isn't an order. It's your decision.” The magical capabilities of house elves were almost entirely unknown, and since rescuing Morky from the now-deserted Malfoy Manor, Severus had hoped he might be able to persuade her to show him a bit of what she could do. He subscribed to the school of thought that house elves were likely more powerful than witches and wizards.

Morky gave a small nod, and Severus reached for a letter. “This one is largely complimentary, and is congratulating me for managing to _'bag',_ ” Severus spat the word with distaste, “a witch half my age. I'm going to turn around. Morky, would you make the letter fly towards me? Try to take me by surprise.” Morky clicked her fingers and sent the letter hurtling towards Severus' head. At the last second, he swung his body around, cast _reducto_ and turned the letter into a tiny pile of ash. He picked up another letter. “This one says I'm disgusting for taking advantage of a student and should be strung up by my-”

“They is very rude to Master Sev'rus, very rude indeed,” Morky interjected, stamping her foot.

“Would you like to destroy this one?” Severus levitated the parchment into position in front of the elf. With a glint in her eye that he had never seen before, she held up her hand, palm facing the letter. It began to tear itself apart, and then just as the pieces were about to float to the ground, they burst into a rainbow of multicoloured flames. With eyebrows slightly raised, Severus nodded to his companion. “Impressive, Morky.”

They continued in much the same way for the next few hours, stopping only for a break when Morky insisted she make them some lunch. She would applaud whenever Severus performed a complicated spell, grew indignant when a letter said something bad about her master, and demonstrated some incredible feats of magic. Severus could already feel his speed returning to him, and he felt he had made good progress in getting Morky to trust him.

Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, a tiny brown owl appeared at the window bearing a letter, tapping its beak furiously on the glass. Severus let it in, took the letter and tossed it onto the pile he had yet to open. But the owl didn't leave. Instead, it just sat on the windowsill staring at him. Leaving the window ajar and casting a warming charm over the surrounding area, Severus returned to the letter he had been reading aloud to Morky. The owl followed, now perching itself on the arm of his chair. Severus looked at it, and it returned his stare, unblinking. Then, without warning, it pecked his index finger hard enough to draw blood. It hopped over to the table, picked up the letter it had delivered, and deposited it in Severus' lap. When he didn't immediately pick it up, it pecked him again.

“Alright, alright, I'll open it. Bloody bird.” Severus turned the envelope over in his hands, looking at it properly for the first time. As he read the address, he realised he recognised the handwriting. He had read far more than his fair share of it, owing to its owners complete inability to write anything less than double the length he had set for an essay. Miss Granger. He should have been the one to write first, to apologise for his conduct. But he had been putting it off all day. Would she be upset? Angry? Would she think him some kind of pervert, like half the people who had written to him? Dreading the contents of the letter, he broke the wax seal on the envelope.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I apologise if my owl injured you in any way. I instructed him to stay until you had read my letter, lest it get lost in the mountain that I presume has been accumulating in your house all day._

_I believe I must offer my congratulations! This morning I was informed of your engagement to not one but six different women! They all seem to be completely enamoured with you. I appreciate that your experience during the war must make you particularly suited to such a task, but I still find myself impressed at your ability to keep six women so happy and unaware of each other. I apologise if our meeting yesterday has put any strain on your relationships with your future wives._

_The general public seems divided on my account. Some believe me to be a 'typical Mudblood', and that I have slept my way to every grade and accolade awarded to me (I sincerely hope that they did not pause long enough to consider how I might have achieved such high marks in areas such as History of Magic). Others are very concerned about my welfare, and have advised me that I am being taken advantage of by an evil Death Eater twice my age. Apparently, making Harry, Ron, Viktor, or some fellow named Gerald jealous is simply not worth the risk that being with you puts me at. The final group seems to believe I have done very well for myself, and these people are of course split between those who feel I don't deserve you (or, apparently, any man) and a very small handful who wish us happiness for such a good match. We are, after all, the brightest witch and wizard of our age._

_This is by far the largest collection of letters I have ever received on one subject, so I was tempted to burn them all without even opening them. I highly recommend looking through at least some of them though if you have any left, for the entertainment value if nothing else. The spelling and grammar alone are amusing enough in some letters. I may take a leaf out of your book and try to find some red ink to correct them. Harry and Ginny are coming over later, and I intend to enlist them in helping me turn the boring ones into paper snowflakes. I believe we will be able to decorate the houses of just about everyone we know._

_I hope this isn't causing you too much inconvenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

Severus reread the letter three more times before he was satisfied that it contained no hint of accusation or anger. If anything, she only seemed amused by the situation. Nevertheless, he still felt he needed to make amends, and so picked up a piece of parchment to compose a reply immediately.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Your owl can be very persistent. As I am now acquainted with him, you may tell him that he need not worry in future; I will be sure never to ignore any letters he delivers to me._

_I feel I must apologise for my conduct towards you yesterday. I have obviously now seen the photograph of us, and it seems clear that I was treating you far more forcefully than I realised. I can only say that I am sincerely sorry, and it was never my intention to act inappropriately towards you, or to make you feel uncomfortable. The blame rests entirely with me._

_I have been using my letters as target practice; I could see no other use for them. I would be surprised if our correspondents had a NEWT between them. Although I was impressed by one woman who managed to compose (before breakfast) a twelve inch essay comparing and contrasting the attributes that you possess with those of Lily Potter. My house elf and I enjoyed destroying it._

_I must reiterate that I am entirely at fault for causing this situation. Please do not blame yourself._

_Sincerely,_

_S.S._

_(As I am no longer your professor nor anybody else's, the title is unnecessary.)_

Apologies did not come easily to Severus. He had many flaws, but he was who he was and he normally felt no need to make excuses for it. Of all the terrible things he had done in his life though, he had never considered the possibility that he might be capable of forcing himself on a woman. Putting aside his unease at the feeling of needing forgiveness from somebody, he gave the letter to the little owl that was still staring expectantly at him.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione was clearing away the leftover fish and chips when her owl, Mercury, flew in through the kitchen window. Harry and Ginny had just returned to Grimmauld Place, but they had had a wonderful evening laughing at all of the letters. Harry had brought some clippings of Rita Skeeter's most ludicrous articles from the past decade, and they had spent much of the night discussing what their lives would be like if the stories had been true. Looking at everything in one sitting, Hermione and Ginny had giggled about the frequency with which they had apparently been pregnant, and Ginny had resolved to retire one particular set of robes which seemed to have prompted most of the stories about her 'blossoming baby bump'.

After dropping the greasy newspaper into the bin, Hermione looked at Mercury properly, realising he had returned with a letter. She hadn't been convinced that she would receive a reply from Professor Snape at all, so the fact that he had responded straight away was a shock to say the least. Skimming the letter, she was surprised at how bad he seemed to be feeling about the whole situation; she couldn't recall him ever expressing regret over anything. Not wishing his apparent guilt to last any longer than necessary, Hermione resolved to write him a short note before she retired to bed.

_S.S.,_

_I was very surprised when I saw the photograph this morning, but mainly because it appears so different to how I remember it. I don't recall you touching anything other than my arm, and I'm certain that you held a finger up to your own lips, not mine. So unless my memory cannot be trusted at all, I am choosing to assume that the photographer simply managed to find a very unfortunate angle._

_I didn't feel in any way uncomfortable at the time, so please don't think that you have done anything wrong. The blame rests solely on the shoulders of Skeeter._

_H.G._

Hermione passed the letter, along with a handful of owl treats, to Mercury, with strict instructions to wait until he felt rested enough to fly again. She then retired to her bedroom, relieved that she had got through the worst of it.

* * *

The shriek of her Muggle alarm clock woke Hermione the next day. She reached out to turn it off, and then hurriedly stuffed her hand back under the duvet. If there was one downside to living in a Muggle building rather than a magical one, it was the heating. Poking her wand slightly out of the covers, careful not to create a draft, she summoned her dressing gown and slippers, and cast a warming charm on both.

It was Monday, and therefore definitely time for her to get back to work. She was currently under contract with the Ministry to research the history of the classification of magical creatures. The law depended on these classifications, and yet most of them hadn't been updated in centuries. Worse, as Hermione was swiftly discovering, the distinctions had largely been arbitrary in the first place, and based only on guesswork. Centaurs, for instance, were still being grouped with unicorns, which gave them far fewer rights than was appropriate for sentient beings. Were they to be rightly classified with fauns (their close relation was common knowledge even to children) they would have far more power on their side when they had to deal with the Ministry.

The distractions of the weekend had left her with little time to work on her project, and her deadline was swiftly approaching. Of course, she had established a fair and appropriate classification system for all magical creatures months ago, and was very pleased with its clear guidelines for accepting any new creatures. Still, she was not yet convinced that her arguments for some of the more controversial changes were as robust as they could be. She grabbed her magical journal from her desk (charmed by Filius to automatically summarise the progress of all of her projects) and headed to make some breakfast.

Hermione took a step back when she entered the kitchen. There was almost as much post as yesterday. Apparently some people had really wanted to put a lot of time and thought into their criticisms of her. She poured herself some cereal, and then sat down to read the _Prophet._ One look at the front page caused her to drop her spoon into the bowl, sending milk flying all over the table and her hand. It was again dominated by a single photograph, this time of Minerva McGonagall pacing behind her desk, face irate. The headline above read, “HOGWARTS HEADMISTRESS CLAIMS SNAPE-GRANGER ROMANCE BEGAN AT SCHOOL”.

Hermione felt sick. Did Minerva really think so little of her? Worse, did she really think Professor Snape capable of something so unethical? Swallowing, she turned the page and began to read the article.

_Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has admitted that it is 'possible' that the romance between Hermione Granger and Severus Snape began at Hogwarts, when they were student and teacher._

_Concerns were raised yesterday when it came to light that war heroes Mr Snape (Order of Merlin, 1st_ _Class, MPo) and Miss Granger (Order of Merlin, 1st_ _Class) are engaged in a romantic relationship. The pair were spotted sharing a passionate embrace in Diagon Alley (left). The two first met when Miss Granger was 11 and Mr Snape was in his 30s. Many were quick to rush to their defence, insisting that two so respected members of our community would only engage in such an affair under honourable circumstances. Today's comments by the Headmistress may have put that claim to rest, however._

_Professor McGonagall was forced to concede that there are 'no systems in place' to prevent such illicit activities occurring at Hogwarts. This is perhaps no surprise, as history reveals a tradition of professors marrying their students (see page 48). Meanwhile, parents will surely be concerned..._

As she was reaching the end of the article, a patronus in the shape of a cat floated into the room. It opened its mouth, and the Scottish brogue of Minerva McGonagall spilled out. “I'm so sorry Hermione. Obviously everything I said was taken completely out of context. Would you come to Hogwarts as soon as you can so that I may explain?” Hermione replied in the affirmative, and the patronus disappeared. Resigning herself to the fact that it was very unlikely she would get any research done today, she headed to her poky bathroom to shower and change.

* * *

As Hermione apparated to the front of Hogwarts' gates, she steeled herself for having cameras shoved in her face. But what she could not have prepared herself for was the excited roar which accompanied the blinding flashes. Behind the expected throng of photographers, members of the public had assembled, several with placards condemning Snape and Hogwarts. They were chanting and jeering, and pointing between Hermione and something to her left. Following the direction of their waving arms, she turned her head to to see the furious face of Severus Snape glaring at her. With a snarl, Snape whirled around, yanked open the wrought iron gate, and began marching towards the castle.

Hermione followed after him, having to break into a jog to keep up. “I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't even realise you were coming,” she said as she finally drew level with him, shooting him an apprehensive glance. “Please tell me you got there a few minutes before me?”

“Of course I didn't,” he growled, “we got there at the exact same bloody time.” Hermione's heels clattered across the floor of the Entrance Hall as they headed towards the stairs that would take them to the stone gargoyle. Her former professor ran his fingers through his hair with exasperation. “We may as well have side-along apparated.”

Snape was practically humming with anger as they waited for the spiral staircase to ascend to the Headmistress' Office. When it finally came to a halt, he didn't wait for an invitation before slamming the door open and storming into the room. “Was it entirely out of your power to ensure that we arrived separately?” he spat.

Hermione followed Snape into the room, closing the door softly behind her. The sight of Minerva McGonnagall was a shock: several strands of hair had come loose from her trademark bun, her robes were crumpled, and she was hunched at her desk cradling her head in her hands. Hermione had never seen her Head of House display such a lack of composure.

The older woman sighed, and said wearily, “Hermione, Severus, please sit down.” They both sat, Hermione perching gently on the edge of a sofa, and Snape throwing himself so forcefully onto his armchair that it was in danger of toppling backwards. He glowered at Minerva as he waited for her explanation.

“I agreed to give a statement to the _Prophet_ , on the condition that they sent any reporter other than Rita Skeeter. Of course, she showed up. I thought... I thought I could handle her. She was a foolish girl as a student, and she's just as foolish as a woman. But of course, she has some talents...” McGonnagall trailed off and looked forlorn for a moment, before gathering herself and straightening in her chair. With renewed strength in her voice, she continued. “I _said_ that a relationship between the two of you occurring at Hogwarts was about as _possible_ as the Giant Squid crawling out of the lake and taking over as headmaster. And I said that there are no systems in place to _spy on our employees_ when she suggested installing hidden cameras in the staff quarters.”

That comforted Hermione a little: at least Minerva didn't believe it herself. But Severus would not be appeased. “Do you have any idea what you've done? I thought the gossip before was bad, but do you know what they're calling me now? Merlin knows I've been on the receiving end of enough insults in my time, but to be accused of taking advantage of a student? A child!?” His voice was low and steady, but his fury was radiating off him in waves.

“I know, I know. If I could take it back Severus I would. I don't think I've ever beggered anything up quite so spectacularly. But look, I didn't ask you here just to apologise. Albus overheard something that might go a way to fixing this mess.” Minerva tilted her head towards the portrait behind her desk.

The late headmaster surveyed the younger occupants of the room with a small smile. “Miss Granger, it is lovely to see you. Minerva has been telling me all about your work with the Ministry – truly fascinating, and a wonderful use of your talents. And Severus, my boy! How-”

“Get to it, old man,” the Potions Master snarled.

“Quite. I can understand you wanting to put these rumours to bed as soon as possible. Well, I was paying a visit to the three men of the white rock – you remember the painting on the second floor in that little alcove? Anyway, I don't think they realised the frame was occupied, because I'd borrowed some blankets from the cats in the bedchamber picture just down the corridor, and the four of us were under them and probably fairly well hidden-”

“Albus!” Severus warned.

“Right, well Ms Skeeter pulled her photographer into the alcove, so we stopped to listen.” Severus rolled his eyes before Dumbledore continued. “It seemed that the photographer was new, so Ms Skeeter was drilling him on the importance of getting the perfect angle for the shot, and bringing the camera to her so she could personally develop the pictures. She also mentioned that it was vital he use the film that she provided, or her 'new trick' wouldn't work.” He paused dramatically, clearly attempting to create some exaggerated suspense. “I believe that she has found a way to alter magical photographs.”

Silence descended upon the room. Severus rose wordlessly, and headed for the door. Just before he allowed it to slam shut behind him, he turned to look over his shoulder. “Please await my owl, Miss Granger.”


	5. Chapter 5

“That's not possible, Severus.”

“Clearly, the fact that it has happened suggests that it might be,” Severus replied, only his deep respect for the Minister keeping his tone civil.

“Are you sure there's no chance you got a bit... carried away? Hermione is a very enchanting...”

Severus slammed his fist onto the Minister's desk, and sneered. “Yes Kingsley, I am sure I did not unwittingly force myself onto the poor girl. And if you do not trust my account of the event, Miss Granger's memory aligns with my own.”

“Be that as it may Severus, there is no proof that tampering with magical photographs is even possible. And you know that we cannot accept the testimony of a portrait.”

“And if I can prove that it can be done?”

Kingsley sat back in his chair, regarding the younger wizard. “If you can show the Wizengamot how she did it, I will personally support your claim of libel against Ms Skeeter.”

“Very well. Good day, Minister.” With a nod, Severus swept out of Shacklebolt's office to visit the Ministry’s Owlery, composing his letter to Miss Granger in his head as he walked. So caught up was he in his task, that he failed to notice the gang of photographers waiting outside the Minister's quarters until flashbulbs began going off in his face. _Some spy you are, old man,_ he chided himself as he pushed through the mob.

* * *

_H.G.,_

_I have spoken with the Minister, who advises that he cannot uphold the accusation of libel without proof that the alteration of magical photographs is possible. It strikes me that if Skeeter can devise a new spell or potion to this end, then our combined intellects should make short work of discovering the method. As you put it, we are the brightest witch and wizard of our age._

_Are you available to meet tomorrow afternoon to agree a research plan? I propose meeting in my home – a public appearance would seem unwise at the current time. I have amended my wards to allow your entry via Floo or apparation._

_S.S._

* * *

It was nearing midnight when Hermione returned to her small flat. She had spent the rest of the day hiding at Hogwarts, confident at least that she would be safe from reporters after Minerva's promises to never allow them onto school grounds again.

Yet more letters littered the kitchen, along with the evening edition of the _Prophet_ and another bedraggled owl. A photograph of a furious Professor Snape leaving the Minister's office filled the top left quarter of the front page, and the bottom half was taken up entirely by the picture of the pair of them arriving at the Hogwarts gates.

Hermione had no doubt that this photograph had been doctored. She knew that their simultaneous apparation would always appear suspicious, but the picture had clearly been altered to make it look like they had side-along apparated. Photograph-Hermione and -Severus then walked up the path to Hogwarts side by side, with Severus' hand on the small of her back to gently urge her along. Hermione _knew_ that in real life she had had to practically run after him, and had only caught up when they had reached the school itself.

_GRANGER AND SNAPE FACE QUESTIONS FROM HOGWARTS AND MINISTRY_

_Hermione Granger and Severus Snape were summoned to Hogwarts today for questioning following the revelation that their relationship began as teacher and student. Miss Granger, 23, and Mr Snape, 42, first met at Hogwarts. Questions now abound about exactly how old Miss Granger was when their relationship started._

Hermione shuddered. Poor Snape. For the first time ever, the _Prophet_ had avoided putting the blame for something on her, but she would happily have taken all of the responsibility to avoid the kinds of accusations being levelled at Snape.

_The pair apparated to the gates of Hogwarts together this morning, reportedly at the insistence of Minerva McGonagall. Headmistress McGonagall refused to comment on the matter further (see page 16 for a summary of the interview printed this morning)._

_Mr Snape was later seen emerging from the office of Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ministry sources claim that the Minister, a close friend of Mr Snape following their work together in the Order of the Phoenix, is preparing an investigation into the matter. Members of the wizarding community are sure to be concerned about the integrity of such an investigation considering the Potions Master's high connections (continued on page 4)._

Hermione rolled her eyes and began sorting through the letters until she spotted Snape's familiar spiky scrawl. She scanned his letter quickly, determining to reply first thing in the morning at a more reasonable hour. Satisfied at least that the evening _Prophet_ had covered their entire day, and couldn't possibly bring fresh humiliation in the morning, Hermione headed to bed.

* * *

“Spoke too soon,” Hermione muttered to the flustered owl sitting in the middle of a fort of letters the next day. She took a deep breath before opening the morning _Prophet._

_HERMIONE'S FURY OVER SNAPE'S INFIDELITY_

_Sources close to Hermione Granger and Severus Snape have granted_ The Prophet _exclusive access to correspondence between the infamous couple. These letters reveal the deep betrayal running through the centre of the relationship, and suggest that Mr Snape has found further ways to take advantage of war heroine Hermione._

 _In a letter dated shortly after we revealed their relationship, Miss Granger confronted Mr Snape regarding six other women who had since contacted her to share that Mr Snape had been having an affair with them. Some even claimed to be engaged to the former Death Eater. The ex-follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's only response was to insult these concerned letter writers, suggesting that they 'did not have a NEWT between them'. He later wrote to beg Miss Granger to visit him in his home to discuss the matter further._ Daily Prophet _readers will surely be interested to know why the wizard, who is proficient in all manner of Dark Magic, should wish to keep their discussion in private, rather than granting Miss Granger the safety of a public meeting._

 _One of the six women who wrote to Miss Granger regarding her relationship with Mr Snape was Felicity Faircross, 31, who contacted_ The Prophet _to share her concerns. “Severus and I have been in a relationship for the last two years. It has been quite a turbulent time in my life. Severus is a very passionate man – anyone familiar with his devotion to Lily Potter will be aware – but this means he is a man of extremes. After just a month of dating he whisked me to Paris to propose with his mother's ring, but whenever I suggested setting a date or planning the wedding he would fly into a terrible rage. Weeks would pass where he would refuse to see me. I now know he must have been spending his time with other witches.” (Miss Faircross' interview continues on page 6)._

Hermione felt violated. Someone had intercepted their owls. Or one of their friends had betrayed them. She rushed to her writing desk, finding Snape's letters undisturbed and filed in the drawer as she had left them. Only Ginny and Harry had been in her flat since this mess started, and she knew neither of them would ever have leaked anything about it. Besides, the article contained content from letters going both ways, which meant they must have been caught in transit.

Not wishing to waste time showering, she _scourgified_ herself clean, threw on some clothes, and knelt down in front of her hearth. After a dash of Floo powder and a command of “Spinner's End” she stuck her head into the flames.

The sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting. Her former Potions Professor was sitting in that uncomfortable-looking armchair, and he looked even worse than he had at the height of his role as a double agent. His head was in his hands, dressing gown draped over his shoulders on top of rumpled, faded pyjamas. A glass sat on its side on the coffee table, next to an empty bottle of Firewhiskey.

His head snapped up as soon as he noticed her presence. His eyes were red-rimmed, with dark circles underneath. Stubble covered his cheeks and neck, a stark black against his pale complexion. Hermione cleared her throat. “I'm, erm, so sorry to disturb you, sir. I just thought that, given recent developments, an owl might be unwise.”

“No need for apologies, Miss Granger,” he said, his usual silken voice rough, “but come through quickly. I expect they are monitoring the Floo as well.” It only took a few seconds for Hermione to pull her head out of the fire and step through with her whole body, but in that time Snape had eliminated all signs of the dishevelled man she had just seen. When she arrived in his living room the bottle and glass had been vanished, his pyjamas had been replaced by his usual starched shirt and robes, and his hair had been neatly tied back at the nape of his neck. He was just finishing tying the cravat at his throat when he turned to greet her with an inclination of his head.

“They've been intercepting our owls,” Hermione said.

“So it would seem. I have already contacted Kingsley. Apparently Skeeter claims that an acquaintance of ours shared the letters, and as journalists cannot be forced to reveal their sources, there is nothing we can do at present. We may be able to add this to the libel case, however. Are you available now to begin our research?”

“I've actually already started. I spent the day in Hogwarts' Library yesterday reading about the mechanics of developing magical photographs. It seems it requires a combination of potions and charms work, so that doesn't really narrow things down much.”

“Indeed. I had thought I could take the potions angle to begin with, and you the charms. Would that be agreeable?” Hermione nodded. “Very well. Did you make notes yesterday?”

Hermione let out a snort. “Who do you think I am?” She pulled a ream of parchment out of her beaded bag and handed it to Snape. “The research is summarised on the first page, and each section has its own summary. If you require any further detail, you can read each section in full.”

Snape smirked good-naturedly, an expression that Hermione had never seen on him. Before she could comment on it, her stomach gave an almighty growl. “Ah, I, erm, skipped breakfast.”

“I do not eat breakfast as a rule. Stay here. Help yourself to any books you deem useful in the library through that door.” He gestured to his left. “But I would ask that you do not venture any further.”

Snape needn't have made the request for her to stay in the library. She was fairly sure that he would have to physically drag her out to ever get her to leave. Every inch of wall space was covered in books, with tomes stacked sideways and jammed into corners to get them to fit. Two armchairs, looking much comfier than the ones in the lounge, sat overlooking the garden next to the only window in the room. In the centre was a large desk with a single leather chair. There was no doubt that she could die quite happily in that room.

Hermione began picking books off the shelves, delighting in the fact that she hadn't even heard of most of the titles. Once she had a suitably large stack, she dropped them with a thunk onto the desk and began reading.

There was nothing Hermione Granger loved more than a good research project. She was so engrossed that she barely looked up when Snape returned, magically enlarged the desk and conjured a second chair. The croissant and coffee he brought back for her were delicious, but she only allowed herself bites in between each note she made, being careful to avoid dropping flakes of pastry onto the books.

They worked in near silence for hours, only making occasional comments when they came across something that might have been relevant to the other's search. Eventually though, Snape's stomach began to join her own in grumbling, and she insisted that she make lunch after he had bought their breakfast. She found herself surprised when he agreed to give her free reign of his kitchen.

Hermione peered into the fridge with dismay. It was fully stocked, but there wasn't a huge amount in there that she knew what to do with. Most of the ingredients required far more preparation than the ham sandwiches she had been envisioning. Eventually she settled on cheese on toast (using a cheese that was probably a bit too expensive for the purpose). Morky the house elf popped into the room and offered assistance, but Hermione's research into the classification of magical creatures had made her feel even more uncomfortable about the whole idea of a house elf than she had felt when founding S.P.E.W.. “Thanks very much for the offer, Morky, but I really enjoy cooking,” she lied.

It took a few attempts to get the ancient oven working as she wanted, but eventually she was able to slip a few rounds of bread under the grill to begin toasting. She turned to slice the cheese, and then turned back to see great clouds of black smoke billowing out of the oven. The fire alarm began to sound (a Muggle one, Hermione noted) and Snape appeared in the kitchen door, a smug smirk on his face.

“It seems that your many talents do not extend to the domestic arts, Miss Granger.”

“I'm so sorry!” Hermione began. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, but wasn't sure whether it was his criticism or compliment that was causing the reaction. “But in my defence, this kitchen is ancient. I'm pretty sure the oven is older than I am. Maybe even older than you.”

Snape snorted. “Morky, could you please rescue our lunch from Miss Granger's efforts?”

“Of course sirs,” the house elf said, clearly relieved to be able to step in.

They retreated to the lounge to wait for Morky to work her magic. Snape sat inspecting the cuff of his shirt, leaving Hermione free to examine his face. He had put on weight since Hogwarts, and his skin was much less pale. His hair, too, was in better condition. But he looked tired and worn. She wondered how much that had to do with the events of the last few days. “Are you alright?” she blurted without thinking.

Snape simply looked at her, so she continued. “The worst thing they're saying about me is that I am...” she searched for a polite word, “promiscuous. But the accusations they're levelling at you... they're, well they're truly awful.”

“I have dealt with worse than drawing the ire of the press.”

“I know that,” Hermione said, encouraged by the fact that he had not simply told her to mind her own business. “But surviving one bad thing doesn't make the next bad thing meaningless.”

“Quite.” Snape said. At that moment, Morky arrived bearing a tray of toasted cheese sandwiches. Hermione gobbled one down hungrily. At least, she reasoned, Snape treated Morky well, and she had seemed to genuinely want to help with the lunch. Their conversation turned to their research, and they devised a plan for the afternoon.

They worked late into the night, Hermione conceding that it would be for the best to allow Morky to bring her a bowl of vegetable stew. As the clock struck eleven, Snape was only able to persuade her to leave with the promise that she could return to his library tomorrow.

“I'll change my wards to allow you entry if you need to contact me and don't want to use an owl,” Hermione said, hovering near his fireplace. “Well, goodnight Prof-sir-Mr... um... Snape,” she finished lamely, suddenly very unsure about how to address him.

Snape raised one eyebrow. “If it makes things easier, you may call me Severus.”

Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you, Severus. And you may call me Hermione.”

“Very well. Goodnight, Hermione.”


	6. Chapter 6

_This is a mistake,_ Severus thought as he stood in Hermione Granger's lounge at five o'clock in the morning. He hadn't even changed out of his pyjamas, the pressure of time urging him to her flat as soon as he had thought of the idea, and he felt completely underdressed in his dark green sweat pants and white cotton T-shirt. He wasn't sure why he was waking her up for this: he was perfectly capable of brewing the potion on his own. Still, he was sure that she would _want_ to be involved. And he could hardly owl her to ask.

“Miss Granger!” he half-shout-half-whispered. Unsurprisingly, there was no response, so he headed off in search of her bedroom. The job did not take long. After finding himself in her bathroom and then mistakenly opening the front door, there was only one option left. He cracked open the door and peered in. The sight he saw made him almost laugh out loud. Hermione was flopped onto her stomach, her mouth wide open and drooling, and a mane of hair in a tangle over her eyes. A cat with equally wild hair was curled on her back.

He stepped back out of the room and rapped sharply on the door. He heard a squeak from inside, followed by a disgruntled meow and then a scrabbling of wood against wood. “Who's there!?” she shouted, in an utter failure of an attempt to sound intimidating.

“My apologies for startling you Miss- Hermione.”

Hermione yanked the door open, sleep-addled anger contorting her face. “It's five o'clock in the morning,” she said, wand pointed at his chest. “What are you doing here?” As her eyes raked over his body, presumably taking in his unusual attire, the thought of what a bad idea this was returned. She wore loose cotton shorts to bed, displaying far more of her legs than he had ever anticipated seeing. On top was a raggedy, oversized grey T-shirt, but it had slipped off one shoulder to reveal a large expanse of collar bone... and the fact that she was not wearing a bra. He swallowed. Maybe he was the lecherous old man the papers were painting him as.

“I have a time-sensitive potion I would like to try,” he said, forcing his eyes back to her face. “The potion used to develop photographs must be brewed at night, to mimic the effects of a darkroom. However, if we brew it at dawn, I believe the result should be a potion that works improperly. We may then be able to manipulate the image it gives us.”

Hermione lowered her wand and scrubbed at her face with her other hand. "That... makes sense. Do you have any thoughts on specific modifications?" She disappeared back into her bedroom and began selecting garments from her wardrobe, before bustling past him and into the bathroom, talking all the way. "Would it be worth testing that modification charm I found yesterday at the same time, or should we keep those experiments separate? It was a book in your library by... who was it? I'll have it in my notes somewhere. Oh, I remember, Gillies." She had to raise her voice over the noise of the shower spray, but her tirade did not let up. "It was intended as a charm to layer things over the top of photographs. A 'happy birthday' message, or a picture frame, you know, things like that. It doesn't change the fundamental image underneath, but it might be possible to make it look like you had."

Severus marvelled at Hermione's ability to go from asleep to human encyclopaedia in mere seconds, and was still standing slightly dumbfounded on her landing when she poked a wet head around the bathroom door. "I'll be about ten minutes. Shall we meet at yours?"

"Yes," Severus said in reply. "And in regards to your earlier question, as we are entirely in the realm of trial-and-error, I would suggest that we brew sufficient quantities of the incomplete potion for you to test your charm on at the same time." She flashed him a smile and bobbed her head back inside, leaving him free to wander back to her fireplace, shaking his head at the strange turn his life had taken.

* * *

They were together in his lab when the morning _Prophet_ arrived, Severus bottling the finished potion and Hermione labelling it. For the first time in days, the paper had nothing significant to add to the story. They did have a photograph of Severus emerging from a bakery carrying two cups of coffee and two pastries, but this was so innocuous that they hadn't even bothered to doctor it. All Skeeter could do in the article was speculate about 'which of Snape's witches the morning treats were intended for'.

Despite her initial misgivings, Hermione was pleased that Severus had woken her to assist with the potion. Of course it was useful for their research for her to have a full understanding of the brewing process, but mainly she was relishing the opportunity to watch a true Master at work. At Hogwarts she had always been so focussed on her own potion that she hadn't had time to stop to examine his technique. She wasn't sure she had ever seen anyone do anything with such care and precision. And she kept telling herself that that definitely explained the strange, clammy feeling down the back of her neck as she watched the confident movements of his long fingers manipulating the ingredients. That she had not missed the skim of his eyes over her body before he regained control of himself this morning definitely had nothing to do with it.

The pair worked largely in silence for the rest of the day, Severus examining how the potion reacted to various ingredients while Hermione tested the charm on a stack of photographs of Morky engaged in various chores. The house elf was their only interruption, bringing them plates of delicious food at mealtimes and trays laden with home made biscuits and tea in between. Hermione was starting to think that this situation wasn't so bad. Yes, they needed to clear Severus of the horrible accusations being thrown at him, but it had given her an opportunity to learn from someone whose thirst for knowledge actually matched her own, as well as the chance to put Skeeter away for good.

That delusion evaporated when the evening _Prophet_ arrived. The front page was all one picture again (never a good sign) with the words "LOVERS' QUARREL?" emblazoned across the top. Hermione took a deep breath and unfolded the paper, Severus looming over her shoulder.

It was a photo of them from this morning, when he had woken her up. It started as she remembered, with her levelling her wand at his chest. Rather than the entirely innocent conversation which had followed though, photograph-Severus grabbed her by the wrists, pushed her back into the room, and forced her against the bedroom wall. He then planted a bruising kiss on her lips before the picture looped again. Hermione gasped, and real-Severus took a step back from her.

On the second watch, Hermione noticed what they were wearing. Her bobbly old T-shirt had been transformed into a silk and lace camisole which clung to her enhanced curves, with matching lace-trimmed shorts. Whatever Severus had been wearing on top had been vanished entirely, leaving him in only low-slung sweat pants and displaying a god-like physique. "This is... I don't... How?" Hermione spluttered, turning to Severus for some kind of support. Instead of the comradeship that he had displayed throughout this whole ordeal though, he looked furious. At her.

"How could you be so stupid?"

"What?" Hermione said, reeling from the sudden change in attitude.

"That photograph was taken from your bedroom window. Am I to believe that the so-called brightest witch of her age is incapable of casting the most basic of protective wards!?"

"I live in a Muggle building, _Professor,"_ Hermione spat. "According to the Statute of Secrecy, I am permitted to have wards _inside_ my property - which I _do_ \- but may only place a basic Muggle-Repelling charm on the exterior of the property."

"Even Muggles have blinds, _Miss Granger_ , or have you never come across the new-fangled concept of a curtain?"

Hermione crushed the paper in her fist. "I'm not the one who decided to show up in a woman's bedroom at five o'clock in the morning in his nightwear!"

At her words, all of the fury visibly drained out of him. He sank into one of the overstuffed armchairs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I apologise, Hermione." He closed his eyes for a few moments, as if searching for words. "There is now a photograph of me forcing myself onto you. Unless we can prove that it was altered..."

On autopilot, Hermione knelt in front of him and clasped his hand in hers. For a moment she had forgotten that Severus wasn't one of her normal friends, and he probably wouldn't appreciate the physical contact. He didn't pull his hand away though. "Well we just have to prove that it _was_ altered," Hermione said, squeezing his hand. "You know, you and I hold the two highest N.E.W.T. scores in a century. I looked up that woman's when I was at Hogwarts - she barely scraped Acceptables, apart from an 'E' in Transfiguration. There's no way the two of us together can't beat her. In fact, I'd say the fact that she chose to take _us_ on shows just how stupid she really is."

Hermione removed her hand from his slightly awkwardly, and straightened out the crumpled photograph. "On the plus side," she said, attempting to lighten the mood, "she has been rather complimentary about both of our bodies."

"Yes, that's exactly what I need," he said, "my vapid fanclub thinking I might be physically tolerable. My appearance has been my only shield since the war." To Hermione's great relief, his tone held no bite to it. "I suppose we ought to know what they're saying. Would you read the article?"

Hermione cleared her throat and turned to page two, where the article began:

_Long-time readers of the_ Daily Prophet _will be aware of the surprisingly deep passions which run through ex-Death Eater Severus Snape. His obsession with Lily Potter, mother of Chosen One Harry Potter, spanned decades, and fuelled his reported betrayal of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Today, the_ Prophet _can exclusively reveal a glimpse beneath his usually cool façade to the Lothario underneath._

_Yesterday we reported that Hermione Granger had confronted the Potions Master over his many affairs. In response, he begged her to visit his home alone. Fortunately, the brilliant Miss Granger was far too sensible to fall into the trap and ignored his pleas. Aware of the Slytherin's unpredictable character, a close friend of the Gryffindor took it upon himself to guard her modest flat in case she was in need of any assistance. He was able to take the photograph overleaf, which this author feels speaks for itself._

_The photograph depicts the ex-spy sneaking into the young woman's home as she sleeps. Upon waking, Hermione puts up an admirable fight, making it clear that his presence is unwanted. No doubt it is her forgiving nature which prevents her from immediately hexing him. Unfortunately Snape, who is renowned as a fierce dueller, seizes upon this opportunity to bodily disarm her. He forces her back into her bedroom, and tries to convince her physically to forgive him where his words have failed. An editorial decision has been taken to refrain from publishing the photographs which followed to avoid shocking readers of a more sensitive disposition, but most wizards and witches will be able to guess at what came next based on the ferocity of the kiss._

The pair were quiet for a moment as they absorbed the content of the article. Eventually, Hermione broke the silence. "I'm so sorry, Severus." He just shrugged in response, looking more like a broken little boy than a man in his forties. "Well I can't stay in my flat anymore," she said with a sigh. "Not unless I want to live in perpetual darkness anyway, and even then it would be too weird knowing that there were so many people nearby trying to sneak a look at me. Or us, I suppose. 'Friend of the Gryffindor' my cauldron!"

"Where will you go?" Severus asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"Mum and Dad's would be just as bad so I can't go home. I'm sure Harry and Ginny would put me up, but they're newlyweds and, well... I'd just rather not. Probably The Burrow, then. Although the twins will have a field day with this. I predict that my patience with their jokes will wear out after approximately seven minutes."

"You could stay here," Severus said.

"What!?" Hermione said, her response blurting out before she could stop it. Severus Snape, feared professor and notorious curmudgeon, was inviting her to... what? Have a sleepover? Hermione was overcome by a brief moment of hysteria, where the image of her braiding Severus' hair flashed into her mind.

"That is to say, I have a spare bedroom which you would be welcome to use. It would allow us to hasten the pace of our research." He seemed to falter slightly in his speech. "But I'm sure you would be much more comfortable with your friends."

"No," Hermione replied, "it makes a lot of sense. The sooner we can sort all this out, the better. And I'd never turn down the chance of staying in the same house as your library. It's not too much of an imposition, is it?"

"Not at all."

"Right then. Well, I'd better go and pack." With that, she clambered into his fireplace, Floo powder in hand, and called out, "14a, Gosford Place."

* * *

What in Merlin's name had he done? Snape hated company at the best of times, and now he had invited a practical stranger into his home for an indefinite duration. And not just any stranger, but the best friend of Potter, and an ex-student who had been one of the most insufferable chatterboxes he had ever had the misfortune of teaching.

On the other hand, the accusations that were being thrown at him were so awful that he would have consented to hosting Sybill Trelawney if it could have cleared his name more swiftly. And Hermione was decidedly less irritating now than she had been as a teenager.

While he waited, Snape cast a few cleaning charms in the spare bedroom, spluttering at the amount of dust which expelled itself from the bed. He couldn't recall anyone having stayed in the room since the war, and winced at the thought of the sort of people who had slept there. Hermione could hardly expect chocolates on her pillow, but it was probably unfair to force her to sleep on the same mattress as the Death Eaters who had quite literally tortured her. With the help of a few _reducios_ , he swapped the mattress with that from his own bed and then, deciding that he didn't particularly want to sleep on it either, vanished it and transfigured a cushion into a futon instead (there was no point in trying to magically create a decent mattress - he would order a new one once this mess was sorted out).

By the time he had finished reconfiguring the beds, Hermione was standing back in his living room with a small purple handbag slung across her shoulder. "That's it?"

"Undetectable extension charm," she replied. "I've had it since that year we were on the run, but I've just kept expanding it since. I think it's actually bigger than my flat at this point."

"You are aware that undetectable extension charms work on rooms, are you not? If you expanded your home, you could actually walk around your belongings."

"But then I wouldn't be prepared if I needed to leave in a hurry." She offered him a tight smile. "Old habits."

That was fair, he thought. He preferred to travel light when in a dangerous situation, but if he was the sort of person who liked to take lots of supplies with him, he could see himself getting a bit obsessive about having everything easily to hand. "The spare room is up the stairs to the left if you would like to unpack. I'll be in the library when you're ready."

* * *

When she came back downstairs, wearing the same ratty grey T-shirt as this morning but a mercifully longer pair of pyjama bottoms, Severus approached the question which had been needling at him for a while, in spite of the much more important problems they were facing. "Out of interest, which of us holds the higher N.E.W.T score?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Hermione grinned. "Well we both achieved straight Outstandings, of course. I believe you have the higher average score - the 122% in Potions is what really did it - but I took two more subjects than you. So I suppose it depends on how you look at it."

Severus leaned back in his chair and took a swig of Firewhisky, relieved that she hadn't beaten him despite how petty the competition might have been. "There's only one way to look at it Hermione: quality over quantity."

Hermione snorted. "You of all people should understand the importance of being able to multitask."

"And I am also very well aware of the perils of taking on too much. In any case, we have no way of knowing how I would have performed if given the opportunity to take the extra two courses."

"One could argue that by not insisting on taking the extra subjects, you displayed a fundamental lack of drive and insight that is far more important than a number on a sheet of parchment."

"You're just saying that because my number is higher than yours."

They carried on in that manner for the rest of the evening. Much to Snape's surprise, he found himself actually enjoying her company. Perhaps her stay wouldn't be too bad. It was only temporary anyway, and it might be a nice change to have a conversation partner other than Morky for just a short time.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus and Hermione did not leave his home for the next week and a half. They had both hoped that the lack of opportunities for photographs might have calmed things down a little, but somehow Skeeter was still able to maintain public interest in the story. She instigated a roundtable chat between all of Severus' alleged fiancées, poured over every action he had taken during both wars, and even dug up some Muggle police reports on his father for domestic abuse. That article was particularly awful: ten pages detailing every injury his mother had received at her husband's hand, and accusing Severus of not having fallen far from his father's tree. In any other circumstance Hermione would simply have burned the paper before either of them had chance to read it; the look of pain that Severus almost managed to conceal with every worsening accusation was more than she could bear. But they needed each nasty article as evidence for their case.

The turning point came when Hermione owled Harry to let him know where she was, what was going on, and that she was safe. That single letter turned into a multi-day story about how Severus had captured Hermione, locked her up in his home, and Harry Potter was about to launch a rescue operation. In the end there was so much public pressure for an auror investigation that Kingsley himself stepped in and vowed to personally ensure the safety of Miss Granger.

"Hermione, Severus," the Minister said as he stood awkwardly in the living room at Spinner's End. "How are you both?"

"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine," Hermione said impatiently, gesturing to herself. "Severus, on the other hand, is being put through hell. Surely this is to the point of harassment now? You must be able to make her stop!"

"I have survived much worse," Severus said flatly, "than name calling."

Kingsley stretched his neck from side to side. "No, I agree with Hermione. This is getting out of hand. Unfortunately, this kind of information is seen to be in the public interest, so I can't stop her from publishing. I do think we may be able to calm things down though. Or, I should say, _you_ may be able to."

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You've been holed up here for over a week. You haven't been to work or visited your friends. To be fair to the _Prophet_ readers, they have nothing to contradict the stories that Skeeter is telling. I think you need to face the photographers. Go about your life as normal, and let people see that you're safe."

"And give her more material to spin into lies about us!?" Hermione said, furious that the Minister seemed to be putting some of the blame on her.

"With respect Hermione, if they see you in public and unharmed, she can't possibly claim anything worse about you than she already is. And any more altered photographs will give you more evidence."

That was true, Hermione supposed. "I only wish we were further along with our research. As soon as we're confident we can prove what she's been doing, we'll hold a press conference."

"We will, will we?" Severus asked, the corner of his mouth quirked in a way which Hermione now recognised as amusement.

She smiled sweetly back at him. "Yes. We will." She returned her attention to Kingsley. "Well, no time like the present. Do you want to accompany me on my first outing so you can prove you've rescued me?"

"Ah, that would be... most helpful," the Minister replied, clearly considering the PR advantage it would give him.

Hermione summoned her five-inch thick binder of proposals for changes to the categorisation of magical creatures, and tucked it under her arm. "It's about time I submitted this. Merlin knows I could spend the next decade tweaking it and I still wouldn't be happy." She heard Severus snort behind her. "To the Ministry then, sir?"

Kingsley apparated them to a very busy Diagon Alley rather than straight to the Ministry, and walked them up the street to use a public Floo. Photographers swarmed around them for the whole journey, and Hermione had to sit at her desk for several minutes before the stars cleared from her vision. She handed her final report to her boss (in a way, she was glad to have the Skeeter business to distract her from worrying about the outcome of her report as it took the inevitable six weeks to make its way through Ministry bureaucracy) and put in a formal request for a leave of absence. Given the circumstances, and the fact that she had completed her assignment five months ahead of the deadline, the inept but kind man granted her a paid sabbatical.

With Kingsley's advice echoing in her head, Hermione resisted the temptation to just apparate straight back to Spinner's End. She really was in need of a new jumper, and she never had made it to Flourish and Blotts. Bracing herself for the stares and the paparazzi, she apparated back to Diagon Alley.

It was a very strange experience, appearing in public for the purpose of being seen. Normally she tried to hide, or conducted any business in public very early in the morning. She thought about Severus, rather than the flashes going off inches from her face, as she walked up the cobbles towards Madam Malkin's. If enough people saw her unharmed in person, Skeeter couldn't possibly fabricate injuries in the altered photographs, and so couldn't hurl more hateful accusations at him.

Hermione made a show of browsing in the clothes shop, but was so focussed on how she might be appearing in the photographs that she couldn't concentrate on anything she was looking at. It didn't help that there were people whispering loudly about her behind every clothes rail. She gave that up as a bad job and headed to Flourish and Blotts, where she lost herself so fully the books that even the photographers got bored of stalking her through the shelves.

Christmas shopping at least started, Hermione left the bookshop and ran, quite literally, into Neville Longbottom. Relieved to see a friendly face in the midst of what felt like an attack, she threw her arms around him, accidentally whacking him in the back with her bags of books. He didn't seem to mind though, squeezing her in return before stepping back to look at her properly. "Hermione," he said, his eyes full of concern, "are you ok?"

"Of course I'm ok," she said with a grin, "it's all complete nonsense, as usual."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she said, linking her arm through his. "Now, a little bird told me that there's something going on between you and Hannah?"

He took her bags for her and they began to wind their way down the street. "It's nothing, really. We just, well, I ran into her at The Three Broomsticks, and we caught up over a drink."

"And will you be 'catching up over a drink' again?"

Neville flushed. "I don't... erm, well, I suppose I'd like to?"

The innocent problems of Neville Longbottom's love life were a welcome relief from the battle she was facing with the press. The pair spent such a pleasant afternoon shopping for Neville's Christmas presents that Hermione was almost able to forget about the throng of photographers following them around.

* * *

Severus found himself strangely at a loss without Hermione. In the short time they had been working together, he had got used to her involvement in the project. He had a few new theories he wanted to test out, but couldn't progress any further without her input from the charms side. Of course, he could have just read through her notes - they were, naturally, incredibly thorough - but he was certain that she would return at any moment. He hadn't expected her to be gone for so long.

When she finally returned, he was prepared to lecture her about the waste of a day her absence had caused. He controlled his temper at the scowl etched into her face though. "I need alcohol, and something fried and unhealthy," she said by way of greeting.

"That bad?" Severus asked.

Before she could reply, Morky popped into the living room holding an assortment of menus. "Would Miss be wanting a takeaway?"

Hermione's expression softened slightly. "Thank you Morky - is Chinese alright?"

At Severus' nod, Morky beamed and said, "Morky will call the Emerald," before disappearing out of the room.

"Morky can use a telephone?" Hermione said, looking questioningly at him. "You _have_ a telephone?"

"Half-blood," Severus said, pointing to himself. "Priorities, witch, what happened?"

Hermione's scowl returned, and Severus got the feeling that it was at least partly aimed at him. "It wasn't too bad, at first. Kingsley apparated us to Diagon Alley, and of course there were photographers everywhere which was awful, but you know, I expected that. I submitted my recommendations about changes to the classification of magical creatures, which of course I'm now worried about because there's one part about leprechauns that I'd been meaning to revise and didn't, but Clutterbuck actually gave me a _paid_ leave of absence to deal with all of this, so that's really good of him. And then I thought I'd do some Christmas shopping in public, so as many people as possible could see that I'm fine. And I ran into Neville, who I haven't seen in ages, and it was really lovely to catch up with him. I was starting to think that, under the circumstances, today wasn't actually going to be that bad."

While she rambled, Severus summoned a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses. "And then?" he asked as he poured.

"And then... my fans found me." She pulled a face as she said the word 'fans'. "And they were so lovely and concerned, and if you really had kidnapped me to have your wicked way with me it would have been wonderful. Don't get me wrong, I'm _glad_ that so many people were trying to help someone they thought was in trouble. But... well... there's only so many times you can insist that you're fine and you're not in an abusive relationship, or any relationship at all for that matter, especially when there's apparent photographic evidence to the contrary. I've only just got away."

He pushed a full glass into her hands and she took a big gulp. "Better?" he asked.

"Much, thank you."

"In that case, there are a few things I need to discuss with you before I can continue with my potion modifications." Immediately, Hermione sat down and switched to work mode, scribbling notes as he summarised his progress so far. They continued their discussions once the takeaway arrived, and Severus determined that he had been right to wait for her, rather than trying to press on based on her notes alone. She suggested two new ideas which he hadn't even considered; one of which was incredibly promising in its own right, and the other sparked some inspiration for more research.

* * *

Hermione finished her last mouthful of rice, and placed her knife, fork and plate neatly on the coffee table. “Oh, guess what I found while I was out!” She rummaged around in the handbag she had deposited next to her chair, and retrieved a bright pink copy of _Witch Weekly_. The witch pouting on the cover looked like she'd had an entire bucket of glitter dumped over her head.

Severus eyed the magazine, and the woman brandishing it at him, distastefully. “That's a bit high brow for you, isn't it, Granger?”

“I don't read this rubbish out of concern that I'm wearing the wrong colour lip gloss, _Snape_ ,” Hermione replied, looking on the verge of sticking her tongue out at him. “They have some of the altered photographs - it's the first time I've seen them anywhere other than the _Prophet_ , so I thought it would be useful for evidence." She paused, and seemed to be debating something for a moment. " _Also_ , they have an interesting feature this week, which I thought you might like to read. 'Hermione's beaus: Who would you choose?' It's a two-page flowchart to help people decide who they would be best suited to out of Harry, Ron, Victor and you.”

“Must you do this?”

Hermione grinned. “I've never been the subject of a flowchart before! Let's see, in order to be matched with you, one needs to... value loyalty above all else... find the 'tall, dark and handsome' type attractive... like a bit of danger in life... prefer men to be brooding and mysterious... and, oh, um, find hands to be the sexiest part of a man's anatomy.” She mumbled the last part, and a crimson blush rushed to her cheeks.

“Nonsense, as usual. The most dangerous thing in my life at present is the possibility that I may ingest one of your culinary creations. They're right about the hands thing though.” Severus smirked as her blush deepened at his comment, and she kept her eyes trained anywhere but on him.

Hermione took a considerable swig of her wine, and then ploughed on as if nothing had happened. “Ha, one of the main ways they differentiate you from Viktor is a desire to live somewhere cold. Oh, and a love of sports of course. Ron's is actually pretty accurate, but then he's always worn his heart on his sleeve; it wouldn't be difficult to know what he goes for in a woman.”

“Why didn't you and Weasley work out in the end?” Severus wasn't quite sure where the question had come from. He had formed a companionable working relationship with Hermione, but he had never been interested in other people's private lives. He had always swiftly removed himself from the Hogwarts staff room whenever his colleagues had ventured anywhere near topics of a personal nature.

Hermione let out an inelegant snort, and struggled to contain her mouthful of wine. After managing to swallow, she replied, “You taught him for six years; do you honestly need to ask that question?”

“He was, and likely still is, an imbecile. But I view almost everyone as imbecilic. Sheer probability holds that I would have the same opinion of anyone you were involved with.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He's one of my best friends, and I'll always love him. But we were fooling ourselves to think it could ever go further than that. He wants someone who'll cook and clean and have a hundred babies. That would be a wonderful life for plenty of women, Lavender included. But that could never be me. And do you really think I could spend my life with someone who only wants to talk about Quidditch? Who will never understand the things that matter most to me? And honestly, I've forgiven him for it, but when we were on the run looking for Horcruxes, he abandoned me when I needed him the most. As a friend I can move past that, but as a partner, if I needed to put all my faith and trust in him, I just don't think I could.”

“Point taken.” Severus considered her awhile as she sipped at her wine. It was strange to talk to someone who was willing to be so open with him. Before she had come to stay, he couldn't remember the last time he had had a true conversation just for conversation's sake. “And since then...?” He tailed off. He didn't have any right to ask, and nor did he really care about the answer. Again, he found himself having spoken without thinking: most unlike him.

“Since then? There's not really been anyone, now I think about it. I've been on a few dates here and there, but nothing long lasting. Merlin, that's depressing. A couple of schoolgirl flings and a handful of meals out makes up the sum total of my love life. Men seem to fall into two camps though: they're either scared of me, or they like the idea of having a famous witch on their arm. All the guys I've gone out with recently have been in the latter group. They're very keen to take me to expensive restaurants and hang around where the press might show up, but as soon as I get a bit busy with work, or suggest we start doing things away from the media attention, they seem to lose interest.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each contemplating their romantic histories. Severus had an extra two decades on the witch opposite him, but his love life was even less impressive than hers.

It was Hermione who broke the silence. “So, what about you? Any hidden passionate affairs? You know, when we were at Hogwarts we used to wonder whether you had a secret wife in some underground lair.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “It may have escaped your notice Hermione, but women do not like me.”

“I was under the impression that you have women throwing themselves at you whenever you go out in public.”

“You and I both know that they're only interested in me because of the contents of my Gringott's vault and the mistaken assumption that I possess any amiable qualities. Five minutes in my company would send them running for the hills.”

“Well I'm a woman, and I've spent far more than five minutes in your company, and I like you. So there.” Nodding her head with an air of finality, Hermione rose, collected the takeaway boxes and crockery from the coffee table, and carried everything into the kitchen. Severus was grateful for her exit; he wasn't sure he could have formed a response if she had stayed. Plenty of people liked the romantic picture the media had painted of him. Others appreciated his potioneering skills or his utility during the war. Still more respected him as an intelligent and educated man. But he couldn't remember the last time that someone who actually knew him had told him they liked him. Not for what he could do or how he could be of use, or for the image they projected onto him. Hermione liked him. Just him. This revelation felt like it was causing a sudden shift in his mind, as if jigsaw pieces were slotting into place. Nothing had ever been clearer: he liked her too. More than liked her, if he was being truly honest with himself.

If Hermione had seen any hint of this inner revelation on his face as she returned to the sofa, she didn't let him know; something else he could appreciate in her. He normally couldn't stand to have people around him, especially in his private space, but he realised that being with Hermione didn't really bother him. She seemed to fit around him, knowing exactly when to push and when to let him be. He didn't even mind when she rambled, though that happened mercifully less frequently than it had when she was a student. And it was nice to have company. He had always considered himself to be a solitary person, but then he had never before had the opportunity to be anything else.

Maybe he didn't have to be alone. Maybe he could have a conversation partner other than his house elf, even after this whole Skeeter business was over. A friend, or perhaps, something more? He had given up hope long ago of ever meeting someone he could form a relationship with, but now, here was his perfect woman, wrapped in a beautiful package and deposited into his life. Of course she was perfect, that fact seemed obvious now. Her mind was truly brilliant, she was a powerful witch with a wry wit and intelligent humour, and she had more than enough kindness and generosity for the both of them. But then, if he could see her perfection, so could other men. She could have her pick. And she was certainly not one to be fooled by the false image the media had created of him. There was no way she would choose the ugly, unpleasant dungeon bat who was old enough to be her father. No, friendship was all he could really hope for. And that would be enough; more than he had ever had cause to expect.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione awoke to a pounding headache, and immediately regretted suggesting they open a second bottle of wine. She had been enjoying just talking with Severus though. It felt like a strange privilege to get to know a small part of such a brilliant man, especially considering how little he normally tolerated other people. She headed downstairs gingerly, clutching her dressing gown around her and wincing as every step seemed to jolt her brain into her skull.

When she reached the lounge, she found a bottle of hangover cure in the middle of the coffee table, and smiled. Under all of his intimidating bluster, Severus really could be quite thoughtful and sweet when he wanted to be. She downed the potion quickly, and felt instantly refreshed and ready to face whatever the press had to say.

Her preparedness faltered slightly at the state of the kitchen. It had been several days since they had received so much post. Spotting Severus behind a teetering pile of letters on the table, she asked, "Is it bad?"

"I was waiting for you to emerge from your bed," he said, pointedly looking at the clock on the wall. It was gone ten o'clock.

"Yes, well," she said, feeling momentarily like she might be about to receive a detention. "Thank you for the hangover cure."

He merely shrugged in response, and gestured to the _Prophet_. As she unfolded it, he stood up to read over her shoulder.

_GRANGER EMERGES FROM SNAPE'S LOVE NEST_

_After weeks of speculation, Hermione Granger has finally emerged from the home of Severus Snape. The young witch, whom many onlookers felt looked rather smug, first visited the Ministry of Magic. Miss Granger works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but has neglected her work of late in favour of entertaining her former Potions Professor._

_Following a brief time in her office, the ambitious witch again abandoned her job for a spot of Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley. And it seems that for one of her recipients,_ she _will be the gift. The brunette spent considerable time shopping for some racy lingerie, no doubt to entice Mr Snape._

_It is perhaps unsurprising that she should wish to stir the passions of the ex-Death Eater. Miss Granger wore simple but sultry robes cut low in the front, highlighting her décolletage and, to the shock of many Christmas shoppers, a trail of love bites across her neck and chest. Readers will be aware of the passionate nature of the dark man from his reported history with Lily Potter, and this is yet more evidence of the heat which runs beneath the calm exterior of Severus Snape._

_Concerns had been growing about the safety of Miss Granger after weeks spent out of the public eye. Wizarding Britain will no doubt be frustrated with her refusal to confirm her safety, instead choosing to make a public display of her activities with her older lover in a place where she was sure to know that worried journalists would be waiting._

_Story continues on page 3. To shop Hermione's lingerie looks, turn to page 22._

There were two pictures inset: one was a close up of her head and shoulders, where the neckline of her robes had been lowered, her cleavage enhanced, and love bites added across her throat and chest. The other was a shot through the window of Madam Malkin's, where she was examining something which was rather small and made entirely of black lace.

Severus cleared his throat. "I trust you weren't actually shopping for... under... things?" he said, and she had to suppress a giggle at how uncomfortable he sounded.

"No. That babydoll was originally a fairly frumpy, oversized grey jumper. If you look, they haven't even bothered to alter the rack it came from - only what I'm holding."

"A... doll?" he asked, and she turned to look at him. His expression appeared utterly bemused. Facing towards him though, she became aware of exactly how close he was standing to her. She suddenly felt very underdressed in just her dressing gown, alone in a house with a man, and took a step back.

"It's a... style of lingerie," she said, growing warm at the thought of discussing _this_ with him. "It's what I'm holding."

"Ah," he said, as two small spots of pink appeared on his cheeks. He cleared his throat again.

"It's interesting," she said, trying to press on, "that they haven't altered _me_ that much this time. I suppose so many people saw me, they couldn't change anything too drastically. You could easily forget exactly where the neckline of my robes was though, or just think you'd missed all the lovebites on my neck. They haven't printed any photos of me with Kingsley either."

"To alter a photograph featuring the Minister for Magic would be a fairly bold move," Severus said.

"True." Hermione smiled. "I'm going to get dressed. If you feel like it you're welcome to open any of the letters addressed to me."

* * *

Severus sighed and sank back into one of the kitchen chairs as Hermione left the room. The problem with suddenly realising that he was attracted to her was that everything felt a little awkward now. Before, seeing the sexualised photographs of her had just been a puzzle to solve. Now, it brought to mind things he really shouldn't be thinking about someone he would only ever be friends with. Especially when she walked into his kitchen wearing a dressing gown that barely reached mid thigh.

He summoned Morky, and together they began to work their way through the letters. If he could, he would spare her the task.

When she returned half an hour later, fully dressed and gratefully accepting a plate of scrambled eggs on toast from Morky, he had a good handle on the general tone of the letters. "If you would prefer, I can summarise the contents and you can avoid reading any?" he said.

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Severus, that would be preferable."

"I'm afraid there are not many positive ones for you today. The overwhelming feeling is that you are a... slovenly woman, who should not be flaunting the evidence of your activities in public. On a similar note, others are angry that you allowed so much concern about your wellbeing to build rather than simply leaving my, ah, bedroom to clarify the situation. A third faction seems to be jealous of you, feeling that _they_ should be the ones to be, erm, enjoying my company." Severus wasn't sure why he was using so many euphemisms. Hermione was hardly a delicate flower who couldn't handle the plain truth. But part of him felt that she was just too good to be dragged down by such disgusting speculation. "However, there is a final minority who are still concerned about your welfare, and feel that the love bites are evidence of my harming you."

"And what are they saying about you?"

"I have fewer letters, although those I do have are rather more congratulatory of my... conquest. There _are_ still some who feel I am not good enough for you though, and that you would be better off with them."

"Also," Morky piped up, "lots of crazy wimmins begging Sir to visit them at night time."

Hermione let out an adorable giggle at Morky's turn of phrase. He hesitated - when had he ever considered anything to be adorable? Let alone a giggle? "Yes," he said, attempting to ignore his train of thought, "that too."

Hermione paused on her way to deposit her dishes in the sink and gave his shoulder a squeeze. He fought the instinct to flinch away; he was so unused to having someone touching him without intending to cause him pain. "At least the criticism is directed at me now. And nothing they can say about me is even a fraction as bad as what they've been saying about you."

In truth, he would have preferred it if all of the criticism was still directed at him, horrible as the accusations were. The stories hurt him more than he would ever admit to her, but bearing pain was the one things he knew he could do. And he would gladly take all of it to stop her feeling any.

He rolled his eyes at himself: he could certainly bear pain, but he could also do a fantastic job of pining hopelessly and dramatically over unattainable women.

"I think this slut should appear in public again," she said, and he winced at hearing her call herself that. "I'm going to go and see if Harry and the Weasleys are free to meet up today."

* * *

Following a morning of Floo calls, Hermione made her way to Rosa Lee Teabag for lunch. Harry, Ginny and Luna arrived to meet her first, followed by George and Percy, Ron and Lavender, then Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur and Victoire. Hermione was pretty sure that, despite all of her assurances, the Weasley clan had shown up in such force because they were afraid there was some truth in the _Prophet's_ stories. Whatever the reason, it was lovely to see them all; it had been a long time since they had all been together, and she hugged each of them as they arrived.

They made smalltalk while they waited for their lunch, no one apparently brave enough to broach the topic they were all most concerned about. Once their plates of sandwiches, soups and jacket potatoes had arrived though, Hermione opened up the conversation. "I'm sure you're all here because you're worried about me, and I want to start by saying I'm very grateful to you all. But there's truly nothing to worry about. _The Prophet_ seems to be on some sort of smear campaign at the moment. Nothing they're saying is true."

"Hermione, we've seen the photographs," Mr Weasley said.

"Rita Skeeter has found a way to alter magical photographs," Hermione said. She pulled some of the old papers out of her beaded bag and spread them across the table. "Look - yesterday I was wearing the same robes as I am today. But the neckline is lower in that photo, and," she moved her hair to one side, "as you can see, I'm not covered in love bites. And in the first one, we _were_ hiding in Slug and Jiggers, but there was far more room between the shelves, and he was holding his finger up to his _own_ lips to shush me, not mine."

"Well that's a relief," George said, chuckling. "The thought of Snape in your bedroom in the middle of the night was a bit creepy."

Hermione felt warmth creep into her cheeks. "Well, actually, he _was_ there, though it was closer to morning than the middle of the night. She does seem to need to have something to base her manipulation on, but obviously nothing like what happened in the picture actually happened. And he wasn't, erm, topless."

Mrs Weasley frowned at her. "And you're staying with him, at the moment?"

"Yes. I couldn't stay at my flat; it's a Muggle building so I can't ward it well enough."

"Hermione, dear, why didn't you come to stay at the Burrow?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"She'd only start suggesting that I was carrying on with George or Percy. Or worse, that I'm some homewrecker and something was going on with Bill or Ron."

"Hermione," George said, "if you need someone to pretend to be your boyfriend while this all blows over, I promise you... Percy would not complain at all." Percy flushed scarlet and elbowed his brother in the ribs.

Hermione chose to ignore that. She had got the feeling that Percy might have a bit of a crush on her, but she had more than had her fill of Weasley men. "Anyway, Severus and I-"

"It's Severus, is it?" asked Ron, eyebrows shooting up into his fringe.

"Well I can hardly call him Professor now, can I? And it would be rude to refer to him as just 'Snape'. _Severus_ and I are working to figure out how she's done it, since we can't exactly take her to court for doing something that's supposed to be impossible. Staying in the same place means our research can move much more quickly. Plus, he has an incredible library."

"There's a euphemism I've never heard before," Ginny said, cackling. Mrs Weasley shot her a look, and Ginny immediately pursed her lips.

Hermione sighed. "You've all known Severus for years. And you've seen the absolute tripe that Skeeter publishes. Do you genuinely think he would ever do anything inappropriate with a student? Or use this whole situation to lure me to his house and seduce me?"

"That's true," Mr Weasley said. "Whatever you think of the man he has always been entirely honourable."

"I don't know," Luna said, dreamily. All heads turned to look at her. "I'm sure Mr Snape would never do anything inappropriate, but now you're spending so much time with him, I can see the two of you falling for each other."

"WHAT!?" Harry said, speaking for everyone present.

"Well, they have a lot in common. They're certainly the two cleverest people _I_ know. And I don't think Hermione would ever be happy with someone her own age." Ron fidgeted in his seat at that comment. "Plus, he's not so bad looking, now that he's not under such a lot of stress."

"Luna," Hermione said, " _nothing_ is going on between us."

After that, the conversation turned to Ron and Lavender's wedding plans. For once, Hermione was happy to sit back and listen to them prattle away about ribbon colours and cake flavours. She hadn't been lying at all when she had told Luna that nothing was going on, but the Ravenclaw's comments had sent Hermione's mind whirling. She couldn't deny that, on paper at least, she and Severus were actually surprisingly compatible. He was one of the only people she had ever met who didn't roll their eyes at one of her research projects; on the contrary, he threw himself in with equal enthusiasm. Although she knew he could be grumpy and short-tempered - she had seen as much that first day in Diagon Alley when he hadn't realised who she was - he was rarely like that with her. And Luna was right that she probably needed to be with someone older.

When she returned to Spinner's End, Severus bounded up the stairs from his laboratory. As he explained his theory that beetle eyes, ironically, might be the key to the altered potion, his whole face lit up. He no longer looked like her surly potions professor, but a brilliant man who loved his work. Luna had been right: without the stresses of the war he looked much younger, the harsh angles of his face softened. His hair was not as greasy as it had been during her school days, and Morky was successfully feeding him up. He wasn't classically handsome, but there was definitely something attractive about him, especially when he talked so eloquently in that deep voice of his.

The only problem, of course, was that there was no way he saw her as anything other than his annoying student who couldn't restrain herself from constantly waving her hand in the air. He had endless streams of doubtlessly far more beautiful and sophisticated women throwing themselves at him. He could never want her. Still though, there weren't very many people he allowed to spend time with him, so she could be more than content with having the opportunity to get to know such an interesting man. It was only a little crush, anyway; no need to spoil their tentative friendship over something as silly as hormones.

Hermione followed him down into the basement, and they worked well into the night. By the time they dragged themselves to bed in the early hours of the morning, Severus had developed a potion which produced an unfocussed, hazy photograph. Hermione's charm could successfully manipulate the image, but only to return it to what it should have been originally. It felt like definite progress though, and she fell asleep quickly in the knowledge that it had been a productive day.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione should have known that the day before had been too good to be true. She woke up first for once, and after dressing quickly headed to the kitchen to see Morky in floods of tears, surrounded by opened letters and clutching _The Daily Prohphet_ to her chest. "They is so _rude_ to Miss and the Master," Morky wailed.

Hermione gently extracted the paper from Morky's arms and spread it over the table. The front page was covered in a collage of photographs, under the headline, ‘SNAPE BETRAYED: GRANGER SPOTTED WITH MULTIPLE WIZARDS’.

By far the biggest was a photograph of Severus as he left Spinner's End. Skeeter had given him bloodshot eyes and actual tear stains running down his face. The remainder of the page was quartered, and featured: a photograph of her walking arm-in-arm with Neville through Diagon Alley, stopping every now and then to snuggle into him; a picture of her greeting George as he arrived at Rosa Lee's - she hugged him as she remembered, but then he dipped her into a passionate kiss; a shot that looked like Bill was sucking on the side of her neck while she sighed in pleasure - that must have been when she moved her hair to the side to show off her lack of love bites; and, most disturbingly, a photograph of her looking dreamily into Mr Weasley's eyes as he wrapped his arm around her (Skeeter had somehow managed to remove his entire family from frame there, making it look like they were alone).

She stared at the newspaper, open mouthed, for several minutes, unable to force herself to turn the page to read the actual article. Severus, who had apparently managed to sneak into the kitchen entirely silently, reached around her to pick up the paper, and read the article aloud to her.

_Hermione Granger has already grown tired of war hero Severus Snape. The_ Daily Prophet _can reveal exclusive photographs showing the insatiable witch enjoying the company of not one but_ four _other men._

_She was first spotted looking cosy with former school chum Neville Longbottom as the pair spent an afternoon enjoying the festive atmosphere in Diagon Alley. The auror, who played an important role in the defeat of You-Know-Who, was the perfect gentleman, and carried her bags as he escorted her around the busy shopping district. This chivalrous display was apparently not enough for the femme fatale, who threw herself into a scandalous position (see overleaf), much to Mr Longbottom's surprise._

_Ms Granger was later seen in the arms of George Weasley, brother of former beau Ronald. She was overheard lamenting that Mr Snape had lured her to his home in order to seduce her. The successful businessman sought to comfort the witch, although regular readers will be aware that the drama surrounding her involvement with the former Headmaster has been largely overblown by Ms Granger herself._

_Rapidly making her way through the Weasley clan, Granger was also seen exhibiting a shocking display of affection in public, with William 'Bill' Weasley passionately kissing and biting her neck. The new father was attacked by vicious werewolf Fenrir Greyback during the war. Fortunately, Greyback was in an untransformed state during the attack. Whilst it has been confirmed that Mr Weasley has not been infected with the werewolf curse, it seems he has inherited at least some animalistic traits._

_Finally, it seems that the witch's taste for older men extends beyond her former Potions Professor. She was also seen cosying up to Ministry worker Arthur Weasley. The_ Prophet _has_ _reached out to Molly Weasley, Arthur's wife of more than three decades, for comment._

_This writer's sympathies go out to Potions Master Severus Snape. Readers will no doubt be familiar with Mr Snape's romantic history, in which he devoted twenty years to the memory of his first love, Lily Potter. Since the end of the war, the wizard has not been officially linked with any witch until Hermione Granger. It seems that after finally feeling able to trust someone with his heart, Ms Granger has cruelly betrayed him. He was spotted looking heartbroken on Friday, although the strong, courageous man tried to hide his despair from view._

The kitchen was silent for several moments, save for Morky's occasional sniffling, until Severus finally spoke again. "I suggest we ignore all of the letters today. I'm sure we can easily guess at their contents." She gave him a tight smile. She _had_ said she would prefer the full vitriol of the media to be directed at her rather than him. The phrase 'be careful what you wish for' seemed fairly apt. "It is remarkable," he continued, "how quickly Skeeter is able to flip our roles in this fabricated pantomime. Three days ago I was the violent Death Eater who had kidnapped an innocent damsel. Today, I am the blameless and heartbroken hero to your manipulative scarlet woman. If ever someone was suited to their occupation..."

If Hermione didn't know any better, she would have said that Severus was trying to cheer her up. Whatever his reasoning, it definitely was doing that. Or at least, it was channelling all of her hurt feelings into anger instead. "I can't wait to look that bitch in the eyes when we finally get her," she said.

Severus' eyes widened considerably. "Quite," was his only reply. She stormed down to his laboratory, and he was on her heels as soon as he had asked Morky to bring their breakfast to the basement.

They worked furiously, with Severus brewing huge cauldrons full of his prototype potions and Hermione filling several yards' worth of conjured chalkboards with arithmantic equations.

One considerable benefit of Severus having a house elf was that they couldn't forget to eat. They were both so focussed on their work that Hermione was fairly sure neither of them would think to take a break until they couldn't physically keep their eyes open any longer. When Morky arrived with toasted sandwiches for lunch, she also brought a small pile of opened letters. "These is from Miss' friends," she said.

"Thank you Morky," Hermione replied, "you have no idea how grateful I am to not have to read through them myself." Morky let out an excited sob in response. Most of the letters were from various Weasleys, essentially telling her that if they hadn't believed her before they definitely did now, and requesting to be added to whatever lawsuit they eventually filed. One letter made Hermione feel sick though: Neville had written to tell her that Hannah Abbott had seen the story and was no longer talking to him. As the article had continued onto its third page, there had apparently been another series of photographs which Hermione hadn't seen; in them, she had flung her arms around Neville just as she remembered, but in the altered versions they had fallen to the floor before she thoroughly snogged him.

Her initial instinct was to write to Hannah to reassure her that nothing was going on, but with their owls being intercepted she worried that would make things worse. Instead, she decided to wait until the Order's Christmas party the following week: hopefully Hannah would still attend, and then they could talk face-to-face.

* * *

After the previous day's progress, Hermione had allowed herself to believe that they would continue to race towards a solution. They seemed to be getting nowhere though, and Hermione was more than a little worried that it was her fault. After Luna's comments, she had found herself becoming increasingly distracted by Severus. She kept stealing glances at him, and was mesmerised by his practised elegance as he moved effortlessly between four cauldrons. Fortunately, he was apparently so engrossed in his task that he had been virtually silent all day. Otherwise he would surely have wondered why she was watching him so intently.

At one point, she asked him to double check her arithmancy, convinced that she must have made a mistake somewhere. He found no errors, but he didn't make any suggestions for new things she could try, which was quite unusual. Perhaps he had noticed her staring - he had been a spy, after all - and he wasn't talking because he was annoyed with her. She resolved to keep her eyes to herself in future, and spent the rest of the day making precisely zero progress.

* * *

This story was by far the worst for Severus. He knew that, eventually, Hermione would become involved with someone. But that didn't mean he wanted to see it. And it didn't matter that she wasn't interested in Neville or any of the Weasleys; to see a photograph of her in another man's arms, real or not, caused a sickening kind of ache in his chest.

The abuse being flung at her was hard for him to bear too. Her look of horror as she had taken in the altered images of herself that morning was etched into his brain, and spurred him to work harder on finding a solution than he had on anything since the war. It was fortunate that he was working on potions though, and had been a Potions Master for so long. Spending so much time in close proximity to her was entirely distracting: if he had been doing anything he couldn't do on autopilot he would have made a complete mess of it. At one point, she asked him to check over her arithmancy work. This had required standing so close to her that he could smell her shampoo, and he had found himself completely unable to concentrate on the equations. In the end, he decided it was very unlikely that Hermione Granger would make a mistake, and simply confirmed her calculations without actually checking them.

They spent the next several days getting increasingly frustrated. Everything they tried failed, and one potion failed so spectacularly that it permanently destroyed a cauldron, something Severus had not managed to do for over a decade. He rather thought that they might do better after a break and a bit of fresh air, but neither of them wanted to leave the house. The one occasion he tried a ten minute walk to stretch his legs resulted in his apparent weeping on the front page of the _Prophet_. After publishing the contents of the owls Hermione had received from the Weasleys and Longbottom (heavily embellished, of course) Skeeter had again run out of fresh material. This time, she chose to rehash every interaction Hermione had ever had with a man.

Aside from their annoyance with their project, Hermione was becoming more and more anxious about how much Christmas shopping she still had left to do. Ordering gifts via owl seemed risky given the chance of them being intercepted, but she couldn't bring herself to go out in public again. Severus had almost resolved to take a list and go shopping on her behalf, when he was saved by the weather. A thick blanket of snow began to fall one evening, and Hermione left at dawn the next morning, apparently confident that photographers wouldn't wish to brave the storm.

With her gone, Severus wandered listlessly around the house. As much as he wanted to put an end to Skeeter's schemes, working in his laboratory alone held little appeal now that he had grown accustomed to having Hermione alongside him. This did not bode well at all for when she eventually went home.

When he heard her returning, he dashed down to the lab to pretend that he had been working all morning ( _pathetic_ , he told himself). He reappeared at the top of the basement stairs to see her shaking the snow out of her hair and her hands full of shopping bags. Far too eager to talk to her again after such a short absence, he said, “I think I might have made some progress, there's something I'd like you to take a look-”

It was fortunate that she cut him off, as he had absolutely nothing to show her and would have had to invent something rather rapidly. “Can you give me five minutes Severus?" she said. "I just need to send a Christmas card. I hate leaving things this late.”

“There are still three weeks until Christmas, and you'll be seeing everyone at Molly's ridiculous Order gathering. Can you not hand them out then?” Since the war, Molly Weasley had used just about any excuse to bring the Order back together. Every holiday was celebrated, from Christmas and Easter to Halloween and Valentine's Day. Despite his refusal to as much as RSVP, never mind attend, Severus still received an invitation to every event.

“Viktor Krum won't be at the party.”

Severus let out a slight snort, then disappeared down the stairs. Viktor Krum. Of course she'd still be in contact with him. Severus had contented himself with the knowledge that, even though his chances with Hermione were infinitesimally small, as far as he knew there was no one in her life with whom she shared any kind of romantic connection. But Viktor Krum was an international Quidditch star. He was her own age, and they had been involved in the past.

Severus sat down at the bench and attempted to read back over his notes. It was impossible to concentrate though, when images of Hermione in the arms of another man were swirling about his mind. Thanks to Skeeter's most recent photographic manipulations, he was able to mentally superimpose the Bulgarian's head on a variety of men who were draped over Hermione in one fashion or other. As he reached the end of the page, he realised he hadn't taken a single word in. This was ridiculous; he had absolutely no claim on her, no right to be upset. Sooner or later she was going to find a romantic partner; he knew that.

The sound of her voice calling him pierced through his melancholy. He sighed, locked a mask of indifference onto his face, and began to ascend the stairs. But he had barely taken two steps before Hermione let out a strangled cry and began shrieking, “No! Wait! Stop! Don't move!”

Severus froze, his wand poised and ready and his breathing silent. Blood pounded in his ears and his heart raced at the thought of what might be happening to Hermione upstairs. Should he ignore her warning and go to her aid? He would give her five more seconds. Her yelled, “Come up now” came just as he reached zero, and Severus leapt into action. He took the remaining steps three at a time and burst into the room with every bit of dark magic he knew ready on the tip of his tongue.

Nothing seemed remotely amiss. All he could see was Hermione crouching on the floor, with her head embedded into the flames now roaring in his fireplace. Hidden incredibly poorly behind one of his armchairs was one of her shopping bags. Was that it? Had she only intended to hide presents from him? He attempted to consciously release the tension in his body, but it returned full force when he realised that that must mean she had bought a gift for _him_. He hadn't even thought to get anything for her, and would have no idea where to start.

Apparently sensing his hovering behind her, Hermione gestured over her shoulder for him to join her. He pushed to the back of his mind the thought of how perfectly domestic it was to see a woman kneeling in front of his fire on a snowy winter afternoon, her stocking-covered feet neatly tucked under her, and crouched down awkwardly beside her. As he leaned forwards to put his head into the fire, he had to shuffle closer to her. The parts of his arm and thigh that were pressed up against her were almost burning, and he wasn't sure whether to flinch away or lean closer.

He blinked a few times and a dim kitchen and a man he vaguely recognised came into view. “Viktor, you remember Severus?”

The young man's face actually brightened. “Ah, professor! It is nice to be seeing you again.”

“Mr Krum,” was the only acknowledgement Severus could manage. Why had he even agreed to join her? Another example of an occasion Hermione had caused him to leap before looking. To know about her affections for someone else was one thing, but to play gooseberry to the affair was another. And he hated Floo calls in the first place. Dirty, smoky things.

“Professor Snape, might I introduce my vife, Ilina? I find I must be jealous, she is qvite the fan of yours.”

Severus' mouth almost dropped open as the heavily pregnant blonde attempted to kneel down in front of them. Wife? He was so taken aback by this revelation that he found himself responding at far greater length and with far more affability than he ever would under normal circumstances. “I can assure you madam that anything you have read about me is entirely false. I am every bit the evil potions master I am sure your husband has described. Speaking of which, I believe congratulations are in order, on two counts.”

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed, as the Krums uttered their thanks. Severus merely shrugged in response, a gesture she could definitely feel if she couldn't see. Now he knew he didn't want to flinch away from her. The warmth from her body was spreading throughout the whole of his. Whatever this heat was also seemed to be causing his heart to race, as if he had just finished a particularly energetic duel.

Hermione turned back to her friends. “Anyway, we really must be off. As I'm sure you can guess we're pretty busy at the moment. I hope you have a lovely Christmas and a really good New Year. And let me know when you have any baby news!” She pulled back out of the fire, kneeling upwards, and dragged Severus out with her. He sat motionless, contemplating how nice it was to be referred to as part of a 'we'. After a few moments, Hermione cleared her throat, bringing his attention to the fact that she was trapped between the wall, fireplace, coffee table and himself. He hurried to his feet, and offered a hand to help pull her to standing. He marvelled at her willingness to touch him, and even more so at the fact that she wasn't pulling her hand away as he continued to hold it. She didn't even look uncomfortable; on the contrary, she was staring up into his eyes with a slight smile playing around her lips. He opened his mouth to speak, words he so desperately wanted to say seeming to come to him without conscious thought. He stopped himself just in time though, clamping his lips together before he could be so stupid as to tell her how he felt. Without a word, he dropped her hand and stalked off towards the basement.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

If the Dark Lord had realised that Severus would be powerless to refuse any requests coming from a pretty, brilliant witch, the world might be a very different place. Feeling entirely like a lovesick puppy, Severus found himself in his living room in hastily transfigured dress robes (the original garments had likely gone out of style several decades ago) waiting for Hermione Granger to finish getting ready. He was going to have a miserable evening, he knew, but one look in her big, brown eyes as she pleaded with him to attend the Order's Christmas party with her - "We've been working so hard that we both need a break, and then we can come back to the problem refreshed" - and he had inexplicably agreed.

Still, he thought, as she stepped slowly down the stairs, if he could install himself in the shadows somewhere to admire her in _those_ robes all evening, it wouldn't be a complete waste of time. She was wearing green, though the shade was too light to be Slytherin, and the fabric seemed to shimmer gold as she moved. The robes were fitted through the bust and waist, and then fell straight down from her hips. A cape was attached at her shoulders and flowed down her back, leaving her arms bare. To his delight, she had left her hair loose, though the curls seemed more defined than usual. "You look..." he searched for an appropriate adjective, and settled on, "nice."

Her whole face lit up with a smile, and a pretty blush rose to her cheeks. "Thank you, Severus. You scrub up pretty well yourself." He simply held his arm out in response, and apparated them both to the doorstep of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

No matter how many times Severus braced himself to come up against a mob of photographers, he was never fully prepared for the dazzling lights of the cameras. Hermione faced a triplicate of problems in being blinded by the flashes, disorientated from side-along apparating, and wearing impracticably high heels. She stumbled into him as they arrived, and he tightened his grip on her to keep her upright before sweeping them both into the entrance hall.

Once the door closed behind them, Hermione took a deep breath, gripping onto both of his forearms to steady herself. After a brief moment where she looked entirely shaken, she straightened up and smiled. "They're not going to ruin this for me," she said, before striding into the house with her characteristic determination.

The evening wasn't _entirely_ awful, he would concede. He settled himself in an armchair in the library, and spent most of the night chatting with Arthur Weasley and his two eldest sons. There was one slightly alarming moment when Bill's toddling daughter was brought into the room, and Severus had to rapidly invent an excuse to avoid holding her, but that was the only truly horrible part.

To Severus' amazement though, Hermione kept drifting through the library to update him on who she had been talking to and what she was doing. He didn't much care about many of the things she was telling him - Luna had met a chap by the name of Scamander (good luck to him), Teddy Lupin had just done the most adorable thing (he doubted it), Percy had told a hilarious story about a faulty Ministry lift (he doubted it even more) - although as much as he disliked Longbottom, he _was_ pleased to hear that Hermione had managed to convince his girlfriend of Skeeter's foul play. But he was delighted that Hermione wished to continue talking to him when so many of her friends were present to distract her.

When she arrived to collect him at the end of the night, Charlie Weasley (with one too many glasses of Ogden's inside him) slurred, "That reporter might be writing herself a fairytale, but the two of you _are_ acting like an old married couple." Severus had fixed him with his most disgusted stare, but there was no malice behind it, particularly after Hermione flushed and refused to meet his eyes.

* * *

Hermione had gone to sleep feeling so happy that she woke up smiling the next morning. She had had such a wonderful time at the party. For the first time in weeks she had been able to forget about Rita Skeeter, once she had managed to persuade Hannah that she wasn't interested in Neville, anyway.

She bounced into the kitchen and called, "Good morning, Severus!"

"You might wish to revise that assessment once you've seen the _Prophet_." He held the paper out to her. "I waited for you to read the actual article." Part of her was tempted to just ignore it, and allow her good mood to continue for a little bit longer. Severus would hardly accept such self indulgence though, so she took it from him and unfolded it.

Hermione looked at the photographs on the front page and her heart sank. She had thought she looked rather nice in her new robes, but the edited version of herself immediately convinced her that she must have looked incredibly frumpy. In Skeeter's version, her neckline had been lowered almost down to her navel, and her ridiculously enlarged chest was practically spilling out of her robes. Her waist had been slimmed down, her hair smoothed, and they had altered her face so much that she hardly recognised herself. Her lips were much fuller, her eyes bigger, and they had shrunk her nose: a part of her that she had never before felt self-conscious about but was sure to in future. Severus had been edited as well, though to a lesser degree. His chest and shoulders had been broadened and his hair had more volume, but at least it still looked like him. To add insult to injury, her disorientated stumble had been twisted into her being a sloppy drunk whom Severus had to drag around.

She read the article aloud, not wanting to give Severus any idea of her self pity. _"SNAMIONE REUNITED: SNAPE FORGIVES GRANGER"_

" _Snamione!?_ " Severus said.

"It's our couple name, apparently," Hermione explained, "you know, like Bennifer." Severus just sneered in response, and gestured for her to continue.

_Despite her recent dalliances with other men, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape made a public appearance together last night as they arrived to attend the annual Order of The Phoenix Christmas Party. The pair apparated together to the doorstep of the historic headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and it seemed that Ms Granger had already been partaking in the 'festive spirit', stumbling off her towering heels into her lover's arms._

_It was clear to any observer exactly which of her talents the seductress had used to encourage Mr Snape to forgive her transgressions. The witch wore silk robes with a deep, plunging neckline, coupled with a daring slit up to her hip. The former Hogwarts Headmaster had one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, gallantly helping her to stand as she leaned into him._

_The_ Daily Prophet _has recently learned that Ms Granger has been granted a paid leave of absence from her role in the Ministry of Magic. Although the official reason given is unclear, readers will surely be concerned that their tax galleons are being wasted while one of their public servants so brazenly flaunts the enjoyable activities that she is filling all of her spare time with._

_For a further discussion of Ministry excesses, turn to page 9._

Severus broke the depressed silence that settled over them. "You should console yourself that you must have done something very good to cause someone like Skeeter to dislike you so much."

He was trying to cheer her up again, she realised. Even that novelty wasn't working for her this morning though. She dropped the paper back on the kitchen table wordlessly and climbed back up the stairs, feeling very much in need of wallowing alone in her room.

* * *

Severus had watched Hermione actually deflate in front of his eyes as she had opened the paper. He wasn't sure what it was about this story in particular which had affected her so much, but he knew he never wanted to see that broken expression on her face ever again. He marched down to his laboratory determined to finally figure out what the hell Skeeter was doing to their photographs.

More than a few hours later, in which time Severus hadn't paused to take as much as a sip of the endless cups of tea Morky kept delivering to him, he bounded up the stairs two at a time. He couldn't wait to tell Hermione about his new theory. Being excited to share something with someone else was an almost alien sensation, but he had experienced it more times than he could count since she had come to stay.

He knocked on her door and then opened it before she had time to respond. At the sight of her, his words died in his mouth. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, with all of the recent editions of _The Prophet_ spread in front of her. She was clutching a half-empty glass of red wine, and although she wasn't crying, her eyes were puffy and her cheeks tear-stained.

"Are you... well?" Severus asked. He had always been deeply uncomfortable around crying women.

Hermione looked up from the papers and smiled weakly at him. "Of course Severus, I'm fine."

Severus raised an eyebrow at her. "Hermione, you have many talents, but lying isn't one of them."

She took a large swig of wine. "Honestly, Severus, it's nothing. I'm just... being silly and shallow."

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be weeping in your bedroom and halfway through a bottle of Merlot at," he pulled out his pocket watch, "half past two on a Tuesday afternoon. Out with it."

"You'll think I'm stupid."

"You and I both know there's no chance of that," Severus said, forcing as much softness as possible into his tone.

Hermione slammed her glass onto her bedside table. "Fine, if you insist, though I feel a right prat telling you of all people given everything the press have been saying about you. And I know it's nowhere near as bad, but it still hurts, you know?" She took a deep breath. "Skeeter has written all sorts of articles over the years, and it never really bothered me because I knew what she was saying wasn't true. But these photos, they're taking every insecurity I have about myself and telling me that everyone else sees those flaws too. I hate that I'm letting her get to me, but I wish I looked like the Hermione in these photographs. I wish I had her curves, I wish my hair wasn't always such a mess, I wish I was as sophisticated and sexy. And I know it shouldn't matter, and that I should be glad for all my friends and family who appreciate my mind and my personality. But just once, I'd like a _man_ to appreciate me as a _woman_."

Severus sat down gingerly on the foot of the bed as Hermione finished her rant and began swiping at her eyes. He always wanted crying women to stop, but for once he wasn't only motivated by his own discomfort. He would do anything to make her feel better. "I take it back," he said, "you _are_ stupid if you're concerned about that." A pathetic little sob escaped her and Severus' heart broke. Apparently tough love was the wrong choice. He softened his voice. "Hermione, you're the most beautiful witch I know. You've not been unlucky in love because something is wrong with you, but because weak men are intimidated by you. And that's not a bad thing; that's a filter for men who aren't good enough for you. Yes, these women who magically alter themselves - through glamours or whatever the hell Skeeter has managed with these photographs - are objectively attractive, but they're not real. And no wizard worth having would choose a fantasy over a real person."

Hermione moved the newspapers out of the way and shuffled down the bed. With her wide eyes and head cocked to one side, she looked like a curious deer, considering whether it was safe to approach him. "You think I'm the most beautiful witch you know?"

Severus froze. He never spoke without thinking. And yet a few tears from Hermione and he had blurted out his true feelings without even realising. How did she always manage to make him lose control over himself? She took his hand gently and prompted, "Severus?"

He eyed the bottle on her bedside table. Maybe she wouldn't remember any of this. "I came here to discuss a development in our research. You'll need a clear head, so I suggest you sleep this off." He extricated his hand from hers and backed out of the room, telling himself that he was imagining the look of disappointment on her face.

* * *

There were two possibilities, Severus considered as he paced back and forth across the living room. Either Hermione had napped for so long that she must have been drunk enough to forget their conversation, or she was awake and hiding in her room because he had ruined everything.

Severus was never thoughtless. Everything he did was considered and carefully controlled. But something about the witch upstairs made him completely lose his head. He knew damn well what everyone thought of the idea of the two of them together: the press had been telling him morning and night. He had known she would never be interested in him romantically, and had made peace with the privilege of calling her his friend. And yet he had still managed to put his foot in that. She wouldn't want friendship while knowing he desired more.

A creak from the floor above him brought a halt to his pacing. He heard her walk across her bedroom, open the door, and make her way to the top of the stairs. It took everything he had to keep himself rooted to the spot as she descended towards him. As much as he would have loved to avoid facing her, it would be better to end his torment as swiftly as possible so that he could return to his solitary life. He did not meet her eyes though; he allowed himself one concession and retreated to his teenage habit of hiding behind the curtain of his hair.

"Hello, Severus," Hermione said when she reached the lounge. He peeked at her through his lashes: her tangle of curls had been scraped back into a neat bun, her face was scrubbed clean, and the puffiness around her eyes had receded.

"I trust you are refreshed?" Severus said. "I found something about the construction of magical cameras which I thought might interest you."

Then she was right there in front of him again, bending her head back to look up at him with those big doe eyes from underneath his hair. "Severus, do you have feelings for me?"

Damn Gryffindors and their ridiculous forthrightness. Surely this was a topic to dance around awkwardly, not bring right out into the open? "Hermione... I-"

"Because I have feelings for you," she said. "And I'm sorry if this ruins our friendship, but I didn't want to regret a chance not taken."

He looked at her properly then, studying her face for evidence that this was some kind of joke. But all he saw in her eyes was sincerity. Still though, it didn't matter whether she liked him or not. He took a step back and returned his attention to the rug. "If there is one thing the past few weeks have taught us, it's that a relationship between the two of us would be entirely inappropriate."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "No, it's told us that it would have been inappropriate for us to have been together while I was a child and still your student. Though I think we already knew that. But we're both consenting adults now."

"I'm old enough to be your father."

"Barely, and I don't care in any case."

Severus stalked towards the fireplace. "Hermione, you have been taken in by the media portrait of me. The little good I have done in my life is far outweighed by the unspeakable evil I have done." He turned to face her, desperate to impress upon her who he really was. "I was a Death Eater before I was a spy. I _chose_ to be a Death Eater. I chose it even though I knew they were killing and torturing Muggles and Muggleborns; people like you."

"I know what you've done, and I know who you are," Hermione said calmly. "But you haven't answered my question. Do you have feelings for me?"

"What I feel is irrelevant," he started, but Hermione cut him off.

"Don't be stupid. It's the only thing that's relevant."

The woman was infuriating. It was taking everything he had to refuse her. If he was a weaker man he would have given in long ago - taken what he wanted and to hell with the consequences for her. How did she not see what a mistake it would be? "I could never deserve you," he said, "you're too..." He searched for the right words, cursing the fact that she had made him lose control of the one thing he had always been able to rely on. "You could have your pick of men, so you'd have to be stupid to choose me."

Hermione smiled at him. "You know, I've been thinking the same thing about you. You have all those beautiful women throwing themselves at you - why would you ever want a plain little bookworm like me?"

What on earth had those dunderheads she had dated in the past done to convince Hermione Granger, of all people, that she was plain? One frustratingly logical and utterly appealing argument began to drown out all of the protests in his head: if he continued trying to reject her, she might persist in the belief that she wasn't the most incredible witch he had ever met. She was practically throwing herself at him; what would it do to her confidence if he turned her down? As much as he knew that he would surely find some way to mess things up and hurt her if they were together, refusing her now would definitely cause her pain. And, well, he was damned anyway.

He took a shaky breath. It felt like he was about to step off a cliff. "I suppose it's rather fortunate for me," he said, stepping towards her, "that you're such a bookworm. However would I have seduced you without the aid of my library?"

She swatted him on the chest, but let her hand linger there as she stretched up onto her toes. "Insufferable man!"

He bent his head to hers. "Importunate shrew." Severus knew that he could live for a thousand years and never deserve Hermione Granger, but as their lips met he resolved that he would spend the rest of his life endeavouring to come as close as possible.


	11. Chapter 11

They pulled apart breathlessly, and Hermione felt like she was having an out of body experience. She had just kissed _Severus Snape_ : the brilliant, reclusive war hero who used to be her teacher and had rapidly become one of her dearest friends. She had to fight the urge to do a rather undignified dance around the room just to get rid of her nervous energy.

"I think you should move out," Severus said, his voice a touch deeper than usual. As reactions to kissing her for the first time went, it wasn't a great one; it was as if he had popped the excited balloon that had been growing in her chest.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, trying not to let any of the hurt show in her voice.

"Now that we are..." he paused, and a look of uncertainty flashed briefly across his face. "Now that there is _something_ between us, it would be... inappropriate for us to remain living under the same roof."

She raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. "I know you think you're old, Severus, but you can't be _that_ old fashioned."

His face coloured slightly, and he cleared his throat. " _That_ is only a small part of it." He tugged at his cravat and began pacing in front of the fireplace, looking everywhere but at her. "Although the wizarding world may have romanticised my relationship with Lily Evans, one thing that _is_ true is that I have a tendency to become... attached too eagerly. In addition, while you may have worn me down on the subject, and as much as you are a brilliantly fierce witch, it would be remiss of us to ignore the impact that my being so much older could have on a relationship. Particularly when you consider that you have known me for far longer as your teacher than as a fellow adult." He turned to face her and stilled. "In short, I don't think it would do either of us any good to rush into things. Living together already would rather seem to be doing that."

Leave it to Severus to be able to whip out a multi-reasoned argument, in lecture format, with about thirty seconds' notice. "That seems... sensible," she said, and then, to see if she could make him blush again, added, "though not as much fun as what I'd had in mind." To her delight, his pale cheeks turned pink. "I'll move my things to the Burrow - Molly did offer. I imagine that George's teasing won't be nearly as irritating when I know it's true."

"Which raises a very good point: we should probably keep this quiet for a while. It could undermine our case against Skeeter quite considerably."

Hermione nodded. The lack of specificity he was using to refer to them was bothering her though. And while he had heavily implied that he had feelings for her, he hadn't actually said it outright. "Should we... define what 'this' is?" she asked hesitantly.

He held her gently by the shoulders, and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "There is nothing in the world that I wish to do more. But that would go against our agreement to take things slowly. Please do not doubt my affection for you, though."

That was something, at least, and the way his voice had rumbled over the word 'affection' gave her butterflies. Still, Hermione valued clarity in all aspects of her life. And although she was fairly certain that Severus wasn't a womaniser, she had dated her fair share of them and they had typically been reluctant to put a label on anything. Apparently this concern was evident on her face, because he asked, "Was there something specific you wanted to discuss?"

Time to be an adult and set clear boundaries; that's what Ginny was always telling her to do. "I would just prefer it if we didn't see other people."

Severus burst out laughing, and Hermione had no idea how to react. She had heard him chuckle at a funny comment she had made, but never before had she seen him laughing so freely. And most worryingly, she had no idea why he would find that at all amusing. He pulled her into his arms as he regained control of himself. "Hermione, there could never be anyone else for me. Though I am glad to hear that you have no desire to find a much younger, more attractive man with better prospects than me - no doubt there are plenty."

"No doubt," Hermione replied, feeling suddenly very safe with him wrapped around her. "But none as infuriating as you, so where would be the fun in that?"

* * *

She packed up her things quickly and, before Flooing to the Burrow, kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was such a casual gesture that it was almost more overwhelming than their first kiss. Never before had he had the sort of relationship with a woman where she would show him affection in such an automatic and matter-of-fact way. In the past, there had always been an ulterior motive behind every action. That, or it was such a short-lived thing that there wasn't even the pretence of affection involved in the first place.

His thoughts were interrupted by a house elf staggering into the room. "Miss is _leaving_?" Morky said, hands over her mouth in horror.

"Yes, Hermione's leaving."

"Did Master do something to upset the Miss?" Severus nearly laughed out loud: this was the closest Morky had ever come to disrespect; clearly, Hermione was rubbing off on her.

"No," he replied quietly, "quite the opposite. Hermione is leaving for now but... I hope that, one day, she might return permanently."

"You is getting married!" she said, practically dancing around the room in excitement. "Morky shall have a Mistress Snape! And then little baby Snapes! Morky was very jealous of Dorca in old house. Dorca looked after young Master Draco and-"

"No, no, no!" Severus said, eyes flitting frantically to his fireplace. He had no idea how long Hermione was likely to take at the Burrow before she returned, and she would surely be scared off entirely if she came back in the middle of Morky's ramblings. "We aren't getting married - things are nowhere near that far progressed. At the moment we are... just seeing how things go."

Morky put her hands on her hips and raised one eyebrow. "Master Snape treats Morky very well - very well indeed - but he has some funny ideas."

"Just, please don't say anything to Hermione about marriage or children. It might... frighten her."

Morky gave him another quizzical look and then curtseyed. "Of course, sirs."

To a house elf used to pureblood customs and traditions, he supposed that such a casual attitude would seem odd. In truth though, Morky had articulated everything his traitorous mind had been thinking since Hermione had told him of her feelings. That was why he had needed her to move out. He hadn't lied to her about his reasons, but he had significantly downplayed the severity of what he was fighting within himself. If he was around her all the time, there was a very real possibility that he could propose before the week was up. He had spent most of their discussion resisting the urge to declare his undying love for her. And as much as he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he recognised that 'knowing' that after a single kiss was probably not entirely healthy. Spending time apart would give him space to actually think about what he was doing. 

Most importantly though, he needed her to be free to leave him, if she wanted to. It might very well finish off what the snake had failed to do, but he couldn't bear to have any lingering fears that she was with him because she was a young, impressionable woman whom he had trapped in a relationship by becoming so heavily dependent on her. Hermione had chosen her very profession based on her compassion for the downtrodden; he wouldn't put it past her to stay with him just to make him happy.

* * *

"So what was it that you wanted to tell me?"

Merlin, it felt like weeks rather than hours ago that he had been rushing upstairs to tell her of his discovery. How quickly everything could change: when he had found the piece of information he had hardly imagined that he would be relaying it while she lounged against his chest on the sofa. "As you know, cameras were originally a Muggle invention. They are one of the few things that caught on in the wizarding world because, obviously, they're so much more convenient than painting a portrait. Katerina Kodak was the first to try to magically engineer them, but the magic and electricity kept conflicting. It’s not widely known, but according to a footnote in one of her biographies, she eventually solved the problem using her house elves. Other solutions have been found since, but the first magical cameras were produced using house elf magic."

Hermione sat up to look at him, eyes wide. "Do you think Morky...?"

Morky appeared in front of them. At the sight of his arm draped around Hermione, Morky's face split into an enormous grin. "Does Master and Mistr- er- Miss needs anything?" Severus rolled his eyes.

"Morky," Hermione said, "we were wondering if you would be willing to help us."

"Morky is happy to help Miss with anythings!" she said eagerly.

"This would involve using your magic for us, so it's entirely your choice. It's not an order - you're completely free to refuse."

Morky nodded frantically, her eyes practically bulging out of her skull. Hermione ran down to the basement and returned a few moments later with two photographs: one of the hazy pictures developed with his altered potion, and a duplicate developed normally. "You know that Severus and I have been trying to work out how Rita Skeeter has been changing those photographs of us." At this, Morky's wide eyes narrowed to slits. "Well, we think that she might be using house elf magic. This is a photograph of you bringing us a tray of biscuits. Could you change it to something else? Maybe you, carrying a tray of cakes?"

Severus was aware that this was _the_ crucial moment in their research. But he couldn't stop himself from simply watching Hermione. Her passion for, well, everything, oozed out of every pore of her. Here, now, on the brink of a discovery, she had come alive. And she was so beautiful. What on earth had he ever done to deserve her?

He tried to force his attention back to Morky. The house elf took the hazy photograph from Hermione, and an oddly innocent expression appeared on her face. "Morky is not supposed to be saying rude things about witches and wizards." She concentrated for a few seconds, and then clicked her fingers. From where he was sat, Severus could tell that the picture was coming into focus, but when Morky passed it back to them he was astonished. He had thought that, if it worked, she might have been able to stretch the biscuits upwards into something vaguely resembling fairy cakes. Instead, she had replaced the tray with a cake several tiers high. Iced on the top were the words, 'Skeetr is a meenie'. And rather than the fairly neutral expression that Morky had worn in the original picture, she had changed herself so that her face was poking out from behind the cake, smirking in a decidedly Snape-like way.

"Morky, you've done it!" Hermione said. Then she turned to him, smile wide. "We've finally done it! We've figured it out!" She launched herself into his arms and kissed him soundly - something he would surely never get used to. He heard Morky let out a tiny squeal before he lost himself in Hermione's lips.

* * *

"I can't believe," Hermione said as they waited for the press to arrive, "that I've spent _years_ of my life dedicated to improving the treatment of house elves, and that the section of my report covering changes to house elf rights in regards to their _magic_ was over three yards long, and yet it didn't occur to me to simply ask Morky."

"That's what happens when you're only the second brightest student in Hogwarts' history. Fortunately, the brightest was on hand to guide your way."

"You can't be that bright if you think annoying me is a good idea at the moment. If you're not careful, I'll tell the press how sweet and romantic my wonderful wittle Sevvy-kins is when you get to know the real him beneath his dark, brooding exterior." 

Severus grimaced at her impression of Lavender Brown. "You wouldn't dare, witch."

"Try me, wizard."

"Excuse me," Luna said, her head poking through the door of the Ministry meeting room that Kingsley had let them use, "but we're ready when you are."

Hermione straightened and nodded at her friend. A dozen journalists and photographers filed into the room and sat on the rickety old chairs assembled in front of them. Interestingly, Rita Skeeter was not amongst them, and Hermione wasn't sure whether she was pleased that she wouldn't have to look at her smug face, or annoyed that they wouldn't get to witness her reaction when they revealed what they knew.

"Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen," Severus said, his tone flat and bored. "We have called this press conference in response to the lawsuit which we filed this morning against Rita Skeeter, who, as you will all know, is a journalist for _The Daily Prophet._ In our suit, we accuse Ms Skeeter of libel. We will be seeking damages to the full extent of the law. Are there any questions?"

All of the journalists raised their hands, and the photographers immediately began taking pictures. Hermione hoped that didn't continue for the whole press conference; the flashes were blinding.

"Miss Lovegood," Severus said, in line with their plan.

"Luna Lovegood, _The Quibbler._ Thank you, Mr Snape, Ms Granger, for talking to the press about an issue which has concerned many members of the magical community." Luna's professional language was entirely at odds with her faraway, dreamy tone of voice. "Could you please elaborate on the specific stories written by Ms Skeeter which you claim are libellous?"

Hermione answered, as they had agreed. Neither of them had been confident that Severus would be able to answer the banal questions without causing offence. "Almost all of Skeeter's stories about us over the past few weeks have been deliberate falsehoods. The first story, where we were pictured in Slug and Jiggers, was the first time we had seen each other in years: certainly not a part of an ongoing affair. I have definitely not been consorting with the string of men - many of them married or in committed relationships - that she has written about. And the accusations about Mr Snape abusing me or engaging in a relationship with a student are particularly disgusting and entirely false."

"Alan Armitage, _Wizarding World._ So are you claiming that you're not in a relationship?"

Fortunately, Severus stepped in before Hermione could tie herself in knots trying to tell a lie. "Mr Armitage... you were a Hufflepuff, were you not?" Suddenly, her Potions Professor was back. How could he make 'Hufflepuff' sound like such a devastating insult with just the tone of his voice? "Tell me, considering what you know of my character, do you genuinely believe that such a young and eligible witch as Miss Granger would wish to shackle herself to _me_ , a man whom, apart from anything else, is old enough to be her father?" The sweaty journalist looked back and forth between the pair of them, and as he leered at her, Hermione had the uncomfortable feeling that he was undressing her with his eyes.

"No, I suppose not-"

"Wanda Khan, _Witch Weekly_. It's been heavily reported that you are living together. Is this true?"

"I would prefer not to make my current address public, as I had to leave my home due to the intrusion of the press," Hermione said, fighting the urge to grin as she told the complete truth. "I am not living with Mr Snape, though."

"Jack Green, _Daily Prophet_. This is utter nonsense. We've all seen the photographs of the two of you, practically going at it. On paper, in black and white. I've seen, with my own eyes, you taking her up against a wall - old enough to be her father or not."

Severus' mouth curled into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. Alan Armitage, who had apparently been one of his students, shrunk back in fear at the full knowledge of what that smile meant. "Thank you, Mr Green, for so charmingly highlighting the crux of the issue. The salacious photographs, which Skeeter has been splashing all over the front pages, have been _modified_."

"That's not magically possible, is it?" Wanda Khan said.

"That is a claim that will be tested in court. No further questions for today, thank you... ladies." Severus stood and swept dramatically through the door behind them. Hermione followed, ignoring the cacophony of questions being hurled at them as they left.

Hermione shut the door and laughed. "You really are excellent at exits and entrances," she said, attempting to throw the skirt of her robes behind her to mimic his billowing cloak. "You're going to have to teach me how you do that."

"If you want drama, you'll need a new wardrobe." He pulled at her cloak with a disapproving tut. "Look at this - there's no volume here."

Hermione giggled, and slipped her arms around him under his cloak. "You're such a different person when you're with me."

Severus' face grew serious, and his eyes focused only on the lock of her hair that he was playing with. "I have spent my whole life... acting, in one way or another. With you..." He tailed off.

"You feel like you can be yourself?" Hermione asked. Severus nodded without meeting her eyes. She knew how big of a deal it was for him to trust her enough to let her in. The thought that she was probably the only person in the world who got to see the real version of such a wonderful man made her stomach do a strange little flip. She couldn’t put into words what it meant to her, so she tried to pour all of the complicated, wonderful emotion into her kiss.

“You don’t ever have to hide yourself from me,” she said as they pulled apart. “I like you just the way you are: snarky and grumpy, and funny, thoughtful, brilliant.”

Severus stared at her for a moment, and then wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The way he clung to her made her feel like the most precious thing in the world, and Hermione knew that she would never tire of being in his arms. 


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione was pacing back and forth in the little antechamber off the courtroom, while Severus sat, motionless, and observed her. She would reach one side of the room, check something buried in her copious notes with some urgency, and then resume her pacing. Morky was trailing along behind her, wringing her hands in despair at being unable to ease her mistress’ anxiety.

“Hermione, you don’t need to worry,” he said.

She ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation, something she had been doing every few minutes since they had arrived. Each time, her curls got frizzier. “I just hadn’t realised that the trial would be in front of the whole Wizengamot.”

“If anything, it’s a good sign. Presumably Kingsley is expecting that modifying photographs _is_ possible, and wants to be able to pass a law banning it at the same time as convicting Skeeter.”

Hermione collapsed against the wall. “Or, the claimants and defendant are all so high profile that they can’t risk one of the lower courts messing this up?” Her voice was becoming more and more shrill.

Severus stood and held her by the shoulders. “Hermione, you are brilliant and capable. _We_ are brilliant and capable. Skeeter has committed libel, and we can prove it. That’s all you need to focus on.”

“Can we prove it, though? We don’t have the original photographs. If she-”

But Hermione was interrupted by Percy Weasley clearing his throat in the doorway. “Hermione, Professor, they’re ready for you now.”

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before pushing off from the wall. Wishing he could do something to stop her hands from trembling, Severus followed her out of the antechamber.

A sickening chill hit him when they entered the court proper. The courtroom had a particular smell, even after all these years, and it brought him thundering back to the last time he had been there: when he had been on trial for being a Death Eater, and within inches of earning a Dementor’s kiss. He focussed his attention on the back of Hermione’s head; a warm, safe anchor in the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. If he could reach out to her he knew she could comfort him, but because of Skeeter he had to hold back. He couldn’t wait to take the witch down.

* * *

Hermione should have been buoyed by the sea of friends assembled in the court gallery. Instead, she felt worse: more people to disappoint if she failed.

Two oak tables were positioned in front of the Wizengamot, who were all assembled on tiered benches. Rita Skeeter was already present, her face unreadable, so all that was left was for Hermione, Severus and Morky to take their place behind the other table. Someone had been good enough to find Morky a very tall stool, so that she could see over the desk.

Percy hurried up to his place below the Minister, and then Kingsley began the proceedings. “Members of the Wizengamot, we are assembled to hear Ms Hermione Granger and Mr Severus Snape’s case of libel against Ms Rita Skeeter. You have all been provided with the relevant documents and full details in advance. How do you plead, Ms Skeeter?”

“Not guilty, of course, Minister,” Skeeter said in a sickly, simpering voice. Percy hurried to scribble down her plea.

Kingsley nodded. “Very well. The core of this case seems to centre around the alleged modification of magical photographs, and the subsequent use of these altered photographs as evidence for the defence of truth against the libel claims.”

Skeeter feigned an expression of shock. “But Mr Shacklebolt, as far as I’m aware, the altering of magical photographs is impossible. And if I may say, this sets a dangerous precedent for the freedom of the press if even photographic evidence is not enough to protect journalists’ freedom of expression.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Kingsley turned patiently to her and Severus. “How would you respond to Ms Skeeter’s argument?”

“I would respond by saying it’s not impossible,” Hermione said, “because we’ve worked out how to do it.”

For the first time, Skeeter’s calm, collected mask slipped, and for just a moment she looked panicked. But she managed to restore her controlled expression when she turned back to the Wizengamot. “Surely whether or not it’s _possible_ isn’t relevant to the case. Just because they have found a way to do something of questionable legality, doesn’t prove that I would ever be involved in something so dishonest.”

Kingsley’s eyebrows shot up under the brim of his hat. He flicked through the papers he had in front of him. “Forgive me, Ms Skeeter, but as the main argument you have filed in your defence is that modifying magical photographs is not possible, I would suggest that it is crucially relevant to the case.” Skeeter’s lips pursed like she had just swallowed a bee. “Please proceed, Ms Granger.”

“The method involves the use of house elf magic,” Hermione said. “It turns out that house elves were key in the development of magical cameras, and no doubt countless other inventions. Morky, who works for Mr Snape, has been kind enough to agree to give us a demonstration today.” Morky climbed up to stand on top of her stool, and waved to the Wizengamot.

Skeeter stood indignantly. “Minister, surely you can’t allow Snape’s own house elf to be involved in the trial? It’s bound to him and so entirely biased by its very nature.”

Severus’ hands balled into fists under the table. Hermione opened her mouth to respond - they had agreed that she would do all of the talking unless questioned on a detail of the potion, because she was much more likely to be able to keep calm - but Severus beat her to it. “If _Morky_ can prove that the modification of magical photographs is possible, then it’s possible, whether _she_ wants to help me or not.”

Skeeter spluttered for a moment, before recovering. “You were a Death Eater, were you not, Mr Snape?”

“As your newspaper never tires of reminding people,” he said through gritted teeth.

“My newspaper works for the public good. I have source after source informing me of your expertise in the Dark Arts. Who’s to say that you haven’t cast some kind of illusory spell over all of us to make us _think_ the photograph has changed, when really _you_ are manipulating our minds?”

“Would another house elf be able to perform the spellwork you require?” Kingsley asked the claimants.

“They should be able to,” Hermione said before Severus could lose his cool.

The Minister addressed the public gallery. “Minerva, if you would.”

Minerva clapped her hands, and Dobby appeared in the centre of the courtroom. He bowed to Hermione and Severus, and then gave Morky a shy wave.

The veins in Skeeter’s neck were straining. “A Hogwarts’ house elf is hardly a neutral alternative!”

“Indeed not, Ms Skeeter,” the Minister said. “I recall that one of your articles claimed Professor McGonagall’s support for your argument. I had thought you would appreciate a house elf likely to be biased _towards_ you. Unless you misinterpreted the Headmistress’ point of view, of course?”

A dangerous smirk appeared on Severus’ face as she failed to respond. He pulled his wand out of his robes. “And I will place my wand on the table so everyone can be assured that I am not using it.”

The red of Skeeter’s face was showing through her excessive layers of makeup. “Well… I have it on good authority that Snape is proficient in wandless and non-verbal magic!” she shrieked.

Hermione looked at Severus. His eyes were closed, but when he opened them his face was resigned. He had reached the conclusion even before she had: there was only one way to prove that he wasn’t interfering with the demonstration. He rolled his shoulders. “I will consent to a temporary castration of my magic if the court requires.”

“Severus, no!” It was such a dangerous thing to volunteer for, and Hermione had to physically restrain herself from reaching for his hand. For a man who had been through so much, she knew how important his magic was to him, how vulnerable he would feel to lose control, to have no means of defence. And she knew that the last time he had likely suffered such an indignity, he had been on trial for being a Death Eater.

His impossibly dark eyes locked with hers. “When there is something I care about,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, “there is nothing I would not do.”

For a moment, the rest of the court and all of the people in it disappeared. It was just Hermione and Severus, and she had never felt so secure in her life. What had she done to deserve such an incredible wizard? But she felt the same way he did, she realised: even if Skeeter was acquitted in this trial, Hermione would not stop until she was punished for forcing Severus through this.

Two wizards moved from where they had been guarding the door to drag Severus, far more forcefully than necessary, into what looked like a decaying throne behind the two tables. As soon as he sat down, chains began to slither over his body, pinning him to the seat. Shackles wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles, and when they clamped shut they glowed blue. Severus’s whole body arched and his face screwed up in pain, but he made no noise. Hermione’s heart broke at the thought of how much pain he must have endured in his life to allow him to remain silent through this. The shackles flashed brilliant white, he sagged back down into the chair, and stared blankly forwards. All of the light had gone out within him. It was down to Hermione now.

She was suddenly very glad that they had brought a Polaroid camera to court. There would be no need to waste time on processing negatives: she would take a photograph as quickly as possible, and get Severus out of that chair before any permanent damage was done. 

“Can I start the demonstration, Minister?” Hermione asked impatiently.

Kingsley looked at Skeeter, who was running her tongue around the inside of her lips like a sullen teenager. Apparently she had run out of flimsy objections. The Minister gave Hermione a warm smile. “Please proceed, Miss Granger.”

“I’ll take a photograph of the Wizengamot, if you don’t mind,” Hermione said. She didn’t wait for a response, just raised the camera and pressed the shutter button. Before the camera could develop the photo itself, she unlatched the back to pull the paper out, and dipped it into the tray of Severus’ potion. After a painfully long thirty seconds, a very blurry group of witches and wizards appeared. Even with the lack of focus, it was clear that the bodies were flinching away from the sudden flash of the camera.

Once it was fully developed, she handed the picture to Kingsley, who showed it to the witches either side of him. Hermione tried to resist tapping her foot. “Are you satisfied that that is an out of focus shot of the Wizengamot?”

Kingsley nodded, and passed the photo back to her. She knelt down in front of Dobby, and hoped to Merlin that he would actually be capable of the magic required. “Dobby, would you be able to alter this photograph to something obviously different to the original please?”

“Dobby is always happy to help Hermione Granger,” he said, taking the photograph from her, “for she is Harry Potter’s best friend, and she knits such warm and fashionable clothes.” He clicked his fingers, and passed the now-in-focus Polaroid back to her.

Under any other circumstances, Hermione would have laughed at what Dobby had done. Every single member of the Wizengamot had been turned into Harry Potter. Unlike the real witches and wizards who had been startled by the camera flash, the army of Harrys were grinning down and waving at the camera. Given the rush she was in though - the risk of permanent magical castration increased with every minute Severus was in those shackles - she murmured her thanks to him and thrust the photo under Kingsley’s nose.

The Minister examined the picture for what felt like forever. Finally, he sat back. “Well, it seems that Ms Granger and Mr Snape have proven that it _is_ possible to modify magical photographs.” He nodded at the two guards flanking Severus. The shackles at his wrists and ankles opened with a clang, and he lifted his head. Hermione held her breath. She wanted, more than anything, to go to him, to check that he was alright. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one worried though: when he successfully conjured a small flame in his right hand, the whole gallery let out a collective sigh of relief. Severus nodded to the Minister.

“So to clarify,” Kingsley said, “the process requires that the photograph be developed in a proprietary potion - the recipe for which I trust Mr Snape will provide to the Wizengamot - and then a house elf is able to alter the photograph to almost any extent?”

“That’s not even how I do it,” Skeeter spat venomously at Hermione. And then she gasped, and restored her innocent expression. “I, er, I mean I don’t do that at _all_ ,” she said, “by this method or any other.”

But Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn’t stupid. “I move that we subpoena the negatives of the allegedly altered photographs to confirm the extent of the libellous claims. In light of her confession, Ms Skeeter will be remanded in custody to await her sentencing, but this will be no less than two years in Azkaban. The _Daily Prophet_ will also be required to print a retraction equal in scale and prominence to the libellous articles, and to pay damages to Ms Granger, Mr Snape, Professor McGonagall, Mr Longbottom, Mr Arthur Weasley, Mr William Weasley, and Mr George Weasley. All in favour?”

The overwhelming majority of the Wizengamot raised their hands. Only those whom Hermione knew had a financial interest in the _Prophet_ disagreed, but their dissent wasn’t enough. Kingsley nodded at the two men still standing either side of Severus. They moved to grab Skeeter, but before they could reach her she screamed, “No!”, scrunched up her eyes and transformed herself into a beetle.

A roar of shock and alarm grew from both the Wizengamot and the gallery. Hermione tried to keep her eyes on Skeeter, but she was so small and there was so much chaos that she quickly lost track of her. And then a tabby cat leapt past Hermione, launched itself off the table (sending Hermione’s notes scattering across the courtroom) and pounced on something near the door. The cat batted at whatever it was for a few moments, trotted primly to one of the guards, spat a bedraggled looking beetle into the guard’s hands, and then transformed back into Minerva. The Headmistress stuck her tongue out in distaste.

Once Skeeter was secured in a glass jar that an intern had run down from the kitchens, the Wizengamot began discussing the terms of an emergency injunction to prevent any more photo manipulations until they had time to draft a permanent bill. But Hermione didn’t hear any of it. She only had eyes for Severus. They had _done it_ , it was over, and all she wanted to do was to throw herself into his arms.

* * *

As soon as the doors of the lift slid closed, Hermione laced her fingers through Severus’. He inhaled a sharp breath; in his forty-two years, he had never held hands with someone in public. Not that they were really in public: Morky and Dobby were the only other beings in the lift with them, and they were too engrossed in catching up on everything they had missed since Dobby had left Malfoy Manor to notice. But something about her confirming their relationship outside of their two-person bubble made it feel more real.

And Merlin, how he loved her. She had been glorious in court, her doubts about herself entirely unfounded. What was more, they had worked incredibly well together. In just a few short weeks they had made the impossible possible, and taken down a woman who had plagued both of their lives for the better part of a decade. If things worked out how Severus so hoped they would, what could they achieve together in the many years ahead of them?

The lift doors opened to the ground floor of the Ministry, and a group of photographers awaited them. Hermione tried to pull her hand away, but he squeezed his fingers around hers more tightly. Because of Skeeter, they had needed to hide their relationship like it was some seedy little affair, rather than the best thing that had ever happened to him. No longer. Severus didn’t care if the whole world knew they were together; in fact, he _wanted_ everyone to know.

He tugged Hermione towards him, spun her around in the air, and then kissed her soundly on the lips. She staggered back from him, and for a moment Severus feared that he had made a mistake: he had only been thinking about himself, and there was a very good chance that Hermione wouldn’t want the fact that she was involved with an old, ugly, ex-Death Eater to be public knowledge. But then she laughed, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.

As they pulled apart, it occurred to Severus that not a single camera flash had gone off. He turned to the photographers, who were all looking at each other uncertainly. He supposed that, as Rita Skeeter had just been sent to Azkaban for printing stories about the two of them being together, none of them wanted to risk the same fate. Feeling utterly triumphant, he took her hand again and marched across the Ministry to the fireplaces. And for once in his life, he didn’t feel the need to hide from the stares and whispers that followed them across the atrium.


	13. Chapter 13

Severus handed Hermione a small, rectangular box, which she opened eagerly. Inside was a necklace that quite literally made her jaw drop. It was fairly simple in design - a teardrop-shaped emerald suspended from a slim gold chain, with no further embellishment - but Hermione was fairly certain that no one had ever bought her such an expensive present before. "I love it, Severus," she said, "but you really shouldn't have." He tutted at her and told her to turn around and lift up her hair, so that he could help her to put it on. After he had secured the clasp, he let his fingers linger against the back of her neck for a few moments, and Hermione wasn't sure whether it was that or the jewel resting against her collar bone that was making her breathless.

"I... have another gift for you," he said quietly, producing a very large box with a much smaller one balanced on top from behind the sofa. The green tartan tag attached to it said, 'From a Man, to his Woman'.

Hermione let out a slightly shaky breath as she read it. "Is that what you've settled on, as a label for our relationship? I'm your 'woman'?"

"Well I would feel a little ridiculous telling someone that I had a girlfriend at my age."

She laughed. "I think they'd judge you more for referring to me as your woman. How about 'partner'?"

He smiled at her in an open way that she had never seen before. "Partner sounds perfect. Now open it, woman; the tag is not the gift."

Hermione opened the smaller box first. Inside was an intricately detailed glass phial, with a white wisp floating inside of it. "A memory?" she asked, and he nodded his head. She tore into the second box to find a pensieve. That was way too extravagant. She had looked into buying a second hand pensieve once, and even that cost the equivalent of several months' rent. This one was brand new. "Severus, this is too much."

"Don't worry - the pensieve is my own. I am merely lending it to you so that you may view the memory." He could easily have been telling the truth, but he had never mentioned owning a pensieve before. She unstoppered the phial, tipped the contents into the bowl, and pressed her face into the strange, silvery liquid.

The memory took place in the same room they were in, which was slightly disorientating. She looked at Severus in his dress robes, and realised that she had been transported back to the night of the Order’s Christmas party. Memory-Hermione was walking down the stairs in those green robes that she had loved so much until Skeeter ruined them for her.

Severus had not mis-remembered what she had looked like that night; what Hermione saw in front of her matched what she had seen in the mirror. But somehow, through his eyes, she was transformed. She felt his eyes as they raked appreciatively across her body, she felt his desire for her. Looking at herself from inside Severus' head, she was beautiful. He had made his internal thought audible in the memory - that going to the Order party would be worth it if he could spend the evening admiring her in those robes - and she felt her face grow warm.

The memory changed to a montage of events from the evening. She experienced his excitement every time she visited the library to see him, and his wish to spend the whole night talking to her alone. She hadn't realised quite how tactile she had been with him, but she felt his thrill every time she touched him - a hand on the shoulder, fingers brushing when she passed him a drink, her arm through his as he escorted her home. The last scene was of a drunk Charlie Weasley comparing them to an old married couple. His feelings had been complex then: a sort of smug excitement mixed with wistful longing.

Hermione pulled herself out of the pensieve and just stared at the real Severus. He had told her that he had feelings for her, and had called her beautiful, but being told something and being shown something were two very different things. The strength of his feeling, and of his attraction towards her, was a little overwhelming.

As more and more time passed in silence, Severus began to look increasingly anxious. She didn't want him to think she hadn't loved the gift - it was probably the nicest thing she had ever received - but she couldn't find words to express what it meant to her. So she took a leaf out of his book and tried to show him how she felt, launching herself at him and pressing her lips to his. Hermione spent so long demonstrating her gratitude that they were very nearly late for Christmas dinner.

* * *

The pensieve and necklace had cost him a small fortune, but a much larger fortune had been lingering in his Gringott's account for years. It was about time he found something to spend it on. And it had been more than worth her reaction. He felt like a teenager thinking about it, but snogging a very enthusiastic Hermione Granger had not been a bad way to spend a Christmas morning. Throughout Christmas Day, she kept touching her new necklace and smiling slightly; he felt both relieved and vindicated that he had bought her something pretty rather than practical. She had a lovely pile of books, stationery and various magical objects from her friends and family. Jewellery was something that she had only received from him.

Spending Christmas with Hermione's family was not exactly in keeping with their plan to take things slowly. And meeting her parents had been the one part of their developing relationship that he had not been looking forward to. What father would be happy about his daughter bringing home a man closer in age to himself than her, let alone one as generally unpleasant and undeserving as Severus? But when Richard Granger had opened the door to them he had been beaming, and had shaken Severus' hand while warmly clapping him on the back.

"Hermione tells us you're a Potions Master, Severus," Hermione's mother, Jean, said once they had retired to the lounge with full bellies to watch Christmassy nonsense on television. "You'll have to forgive our ignorance, but what does that actually mean?"

Severus wondered exactly how much Hermione had told her parents about him. "The closest Muggle equivalent would be a PhD, but it's far rarer to hold a Potions Mastery than a doctorate."

"There are only three others in the country," Hermione said.

"Have you never considered doing a mastery, dear?" Richard asked his daughter.

Hermione smiled. "Maybe one day. I wouldn't know which subject to choose though. I love them all so much."

"You know, it's possible to do two or even three masteries in one go," Severus said, "if you could find a project that addressed all of the subjects you were interested in. I have no doubt that you'd be capable of it."

Hermione gave a mock gasp. "But you only did a single mastery. Does this mean you concede that _I_ am the brightest student in Hogwarts' history?"

"Nonsense. I was teaching full time, fighting a war _and_ working as an undercover agent whilst finishing my mastery. I am merely suggesting an option which might allow you to approach a fraction of what I achieved." He gave her a smug smirk, and she grinned back at him.

Richard stood abruptly. "Can I get your opinion on something in the kitchen, son?" he said to Severus.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her father's complete lack of subtlety. Severus swallowed thickly. This was the moment that Mr Granger would warn him to stay away from his daughter. The hour was growing late and it was nearly time for them to leave, so presumably he had waited until now to avoid ruining Christmas Day. He followed the greying man out of the room with all the enthusiasm of someone being led to their execution.

The fluorescent lights of the kitchen were blinding after the warm glow from the fire and candles in the lounge. Richard leant against one of the white cabinets. "A mastery would take a big commitment, a lot of time, I'm guessing."

This was not where Severus had expected the conversation to turn. "It's intense, yes. The average duration is three years, longer for dual masteries. But then, Hermione never has been average."

"And that wouldn't bother you, being in a relationship with a woman dedicating most of her time to something else? It wouldn't spoil your other plans?"

Severus frowned, still uncertain about what Mr Granger was looking for. "I earn my living from private brewing. In effect, I am self employed, so I have all the flexibility in the world to make myself available whenever she's free to see me."

"I just wondered, what with you being a bit older, whether you might be in a rush to settle down. Might not support her if she wanted to focus on her career."

So _that_ was what was bothering him. Fortunately, that was the one concern a parent might have about him which he knew to be entirely unfounded. "Mr Granger, Hermione is the most intelligent, brilliant witch that I have ever met. And probably the most determined. If I wanted a woman to sit at home darning my socks I would have made a grave error in pursuing her. Or... letting her pursue me, would probably be more accurate." He cleared his throat. "Even if I were lucky enough to one day start a family with her, I still wouldn't expect her to give up her career. If she wanted to work, it would be a great detriment to the wizarding world to prevent her."

Someone on the TV game show got an answer correct and was rewarded with a _ping_. Richard grinned and pointed in the direction of the living room. "Then you won't have to endure any more interrogations from me. I've never seen her so comfortable around a man before. You're good for her, I think."

* * *

The Grangers sent Severus away with so many leftovers that Morky wouldn't need to cook for a week. He apparated himself and Hermione back to Spinner's End without thinking about it, and then immediately moved to spin them again. "Sorry, I'll return you to The Burrow."

"Wait!" Hermione said, pulling him towards the lounge. "We got so, um, distracted this morning that I didn't get chance to give you your presents."

Severus had known that Hermione had got him a gift, but had been so caught up in the joy of spending Christmas day with her that he had forgotten. He sat down somewhat numbly. The few Christmas presents he had received through his life had only ever been perfunctory: alcohol and socks from colleagues, or school supplies from his impoverished parents. But Hermione had almost certainly put some thought into what she had bought for him.

"So does my dad approve?" she asked while rummaging in a bag down the side of the sofa.

To Severus' surprise, the answer was probably 'yes'. "He just wanted to make sure I wasn't planning to keep you barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen."

Hermione laughed, and began stacking a pile of neatly wrapped gifts onto the coffee table. "Seems like it'd be dangerous for the baby if I was doing anything in the kitchen."

It was a throwaway comment, and obviously didn't mean she was interested in anything like that any time soon, but the fact that she had gone along with his silly scenario rather than recoiling in horror at the idea of bearing his child made his heart constrict. Of course, there was still every chance he was going to royally mess this up, but it seemed there might be a slim possibility that he could one day have everything he had ever dreamed of.

She gestured to the mountain of presents between them. "I couldn't think of a big gift to get you, so I got you lots of little ones. I hope that's okay."

'Lots' of little ones was not an understatement. Severus had never had so many presents before. He squeezed her hands. "It's… you didn’t have to."

By the time Morky had finished clearing the discarded wrapping paper (after opening presents of her own from Hermione: a new set of kitchen utensils that had made her bawl out of sheer joy, and a set of icing bag tips that had immediately replaced the tears with a devious grin) Severus was thoroughly overwhelmed. He was now the proud owner of the new edition of Moste Potente Potions, an owl box to collect post and keep the rest of his house free from letters, a money pouch charmed to never fall out of his pocket, a new cauldron to replace the one he had ruined, a soft woollen scarf and matching gloves, a set of fine crystal phials, a bag of dark chocolate Brazil nuts, and a framed collage of their unedited newspaper photos.

"You have one more present to unwrap," Hermione said, "though I suppose it's more of a joint present."

Severus looked around for another package. "Where is it?"

"Sitting next to you on the sofa."

His mouth went dry. "Hermione... are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I know you wanted to take things slowly, and this is... soon, but I feel like I'll burst if I don't tell you." She took his hands. "I love you, Severus."

Severus’ brain seemed to be working in slow motion. He had taken it as a given that he would be the one to say that first, likely so prematurely that she would be horrified. He hadn’t even considered that _she_ might be the one to broach the subject or, truthfully, that she could even love him at all. 

He wanted to give her more in response, but his words were failing him. And she was staring at him, waiting. Aware that he needed to say _something_ back, he choked out, "I love you too, Hermione. So- so much."

"Well why don’t you come upstairs and show me how much?" Hermione said. She took his hand and led him up the stairs to his bedroom. When she opened the door and grinned up at him in excitement, actual _excitement_ to be with him, Severus was left in no doubt that this was going to be the best day of his entire life.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s been more than six years in the making, but it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has read, subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos, and particularly to those of you who have left comments - I can’t tell you how encouraging your words are. Merry Christmas, happy New Year, and I hope the next decade is full of everything you’re hoping for.


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